Thoughts on Solstice Eve

“Get into the Holiday Spirit” say the TV ads, the radio stations, Internet, and most every flier through the mail. This phrase would like us to think we can put on this state of mind like a jump suit.

Always, the admonition to feel better and brighter is equaled with generosity. The action of being generous, of course, has the underlying message of “Buy this". We are to believe our “holiday spirit jump suit” can be purchased from them in some form or another. I don’t ‘buy’ it anymore, and I haven’t since an experience I had many years ago.

It was in 1984, I believe, as I struggled with trying to do all, be all, have all, etc. Money was extremely tight. My husband, myself, and two pre-teens, were living in our 8X40, un-insulated, 24 year old trailer. The toilet was five doors away. Our shower was tucked into a different out-building with its own ancient pot belly stove.

Dashing back and forth between this home and town meant driving a curvy, five mile distance on a dirt road that took twenty minutes to navigate, and that was on a good day. When it was rainy, icy, or snow-covered, its navigation required more attention. I always felt as if I was clinging to the steep mountain rise on one side so as to prevent me toppling down the ravine into the creek on the other.

Consequently I tried to make only one round trip a day. One pre-Christmas day, I believe I was on my third trip. I was alone, gripping the steering wheel, wishing I could drive faster, but also aware of the multiple projects, school event planning, my three jobs, etc. dashing through the ethers of my brain. My stomach was in knots, my head hurt, and my chest could barely rise for all the pressure sitting there. I was stressed beyond my limits.

Snow had been gently falling all afternoon. One over-large snow flake caught my eye as it danced and swirled to the canyon floor. I pulled our VW van onto a shoulder of the road, turned off the radio and the motor, and sat in a space of silence that was profound. One deep breath didn’t penetrate past my wind pipe, nor did a second one. The third and fourth managed to be deeper. On my fifth, I felt my shoulders loosen.

A black blur crossed my vision from left to right. I leaned forward over the dashboard and spied a raven swooping up and down and around until it landed on an evergreen branch where a blob of collected snow toppled to the ground.

Pulling my keys from the ignition so my scooting out the door would be soundless, I stood ankle-deep in the snow. I wrinkled my nose at the cold wind and fumbled for my knitted cap in a pocket. Another sigh brought my whole body to rest.

Two more ravens joined the first. They sat heads tilted to the sky until one grunted. That started a series of ‘tsks’ and mutterings between them while they continued a kind of balancing act on their individual branches. They didn’t have special food, grandly wrapped presents, cheery music, or even a warm fire. They had each other, and they were sharing a moment in their lives. “How gorgeously simple,” I thought.

The Earth herself was there too, swathed in white, her presence nurturing the lives of all standing on her. The peacefulness in that moment was as comforting as it was intense. Now I was overwhelmed with a new reality, one of 'beingness'!

Stopping my life for a few minutes on a wintry day was the best action I’ve ever taken. I can still access that memory, even though I’ve kept the accelerator pressed to the floor board for a few days or years. The flight of a raven or drop of snow or even a splatter of rain can jolt the essence of that moment throughout my body. I slow down, and breathe, and consider my surroundings.

Recently during an illness that dropped me toward depression, I stood at a window observing a grey day, full of huge rain drops splattering on the cement walk to my front porch.

Chirping drew my attention to the top of my naked plum tree where a dozen chickadees flittered from one twig to another.  I watched as a few at a time plopped themselves onto the roof of my garage. They were queuing up, to bathe in the brimming rain gutter. They seemed to cheer each other on with cheeps, splashing themselves and anyone next to them. Each would jump out, fluff its wings, and then jump back into the flowing water. What was dismal to me was delightful to them. Another lesson in simplicity.

May the peace and simplicity present on our Earth lighten the burdens we all feel we need to carry on our shoulders.

May we slow down enough to share moments of connection with our loved ones, our friends.

May we all embrace, with gratitude, the blessings in our lives and fill ourselves with the Spirit of grace and harmony all year long.

(Christmas, 2014)

What I Think My Mom Is Saying

I want to go, she says.

And I will let you go,

I say.

But how and when? she cries.

I sigh,

You have to have something

to die from, Mom,

And you are too healthy,

Even at ninety four.

I know, she says on a moan.

What can we do but wait? she asks.

Wait until the day I may

Get a cold

Or fall

Or fail to eat food;

Wait til all my systems slow

And I no longer take deep breaths

But sleep and dream of your dad

And wait til he holds out a hand

To pull me from my bed so I can

walk with him

 in a better place than this one.

Then we’ll wait until you see him

So clearly, says I,

That I can feel him close too.

We’ll wait, I say, Together.

She smiles with her eyes closed.

History of a Flag

     Flying next to the post office in Laytonville, there is a special-to-me American flag. It's been raised every morning and lowered every evening for less than four years. It’s faded and frayed. I thought it would last forever. But I guess they don't make them like they used to or maybe the wind’s been stronger than ever and the rain wetter, the sun hotter. For me it’s been a beacon, something I could count on seeing whenever I went into town. I no longer live in Laytonville and I’ve learned that the flag is going to go to its own rest and be replaced. Now, I feel I can tell its story. It feels a little like offering the eulogy at a memorial for a special person in my life or saying a few words before a building or a ship is going to be demolished.  

     After August, 2010, when my husband, Yuwach, passed away, I received mounds of paperwork from the Veterans’ Administration. In between forms there came a voucher for an American flag. Y had served in the 32^nd Infantry Division of the Wisconsin National Guard beginning in 1959. In 1963, his division was activated during the Berlin Crisis. He and his new wife moved to Parkland, WA. That's when he discovered there was something more than cold winters and outrageous summer humidity. He was on active duty for a year, then finished his military commitment while attending Tacoma Vocational Technical Institute.

     I don’t know what made me fill out and return the voucher for the flag but I did. A month later I was called to come to the VA office in Ukiah to receive this symbol of The United States Of America. As I drove to the offices, I still pondered the question of what in the world was I doing? Both Y and I had believed in peaceful negotiation. Neither of us had thought that showing “might was right” was a way for our country to be in the world. In fact we both agreed that capitalism and democracy were causing our government to see war as a way to prop up the economy when other methods didn’t work.

     When the head of the local VA department brought the brown cardboard box out, I asked for another moment to prepare myself to receive this gift. I had to sit down in the midst of photos of our current president and the regalia often seen in military establishments. Each item on the walls and on pedestals were familiar to me, and I realized my life had been affected by the military since before I was born. My dad had been a top sergeant in the Marines and had served for almost thirty years before retiring. He had served in Iwo Jima, Korea, and the Philippines. When he died, he had not wanted any ceremony or flag. My first husband had retired from the Army and had served in Korea after that war and in Viet Nam during that one. Y’s son, Steve Gleisner, had served in the Navy where he held a high-level security position on a nuclear submarine as a Cryptographic Radioman from 1981 - 1984.

     I stood and nodded that I was ready. I remember tears filling my eyes and emotion clutching at my chest as I told the man I was accepting the flag in honor of all the men in my life who had donned a military uniform and gone off to do their part in keeping the USA free, whether I agreed with the sentiment any more or not. They had been willing to change their lives for a dream of making it a safer place. Their decision had been selfless. Each one of them had wanted to be a part of the greater good.

     So I accepted the flag and wondered all the way home, what was I going to do with it? Put it on a shelf? Display it in a cabinet or hang it from the balcony? It was huge!

     One day I took a good look at the flag outside the local post office and saw in 2010 that it was fraying at the edges and coming loose from one of its grommets. I asked the head clerk if they were going to get a new one soon. She said there was so much need for flags for coffins of vets from Iraq and Afghanistan, post offices were way down on the list to receive new ones. They'd been on the waiting list for over six months.

     I asked if one could be donated. She said they’d never had one donated before but if it had the appropriate grommets, the flag would be gratefully received.

     I thought about it and brought it in the next week. The flag honoring four of the five important men in my life had found a home. Now it too has done it's job and can be retired.

Singing the Popeye Song

           Moving into a one bedroom rental has been harder on me physically, and I’m only one year older since the last year when I sold my home and moved into a bedroom suite at the Flower Farm. I had Maggie then who would use her strong arms and organized mind. She was helpful in more than many ways and I could share ideas and challenges with her. This time, I was the one doing all the organizing, with little or no input from anyone. I had to decide what I wanted, where I wanted it, and how to move it. I also had to learn how to ask for help which was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to learn. I truly began another level of the process of re-creating myself, and it was tough making all those decisions.

I’ve done so many things in the last year: bought new items, searched new pathways of thought, made new friends, tried new ways of expression.  I had to fill in as many of the gaps that had been created by the loss of friends and husband and a community of people who shared a way of life with me. I gave and packed away so many items that, as I now open each box from the storage locker, I am surprised by every other item I find: like the picture of the Hummingbird Katchina or the Dan Stolpes pen and ink renditions of the spirit animals as commemoration of Rolling Thunder and Semu Huaute. Last year, I set up my life experiences in such a way that I was forced to pursue my life without these trappings packed in cardboard boxes. I had to move along my path in a different manner.

            The image of a space suit flashes with its long life-preserving tether to a main ship. How far can a person move away from his/her core beliefs before the life line ruptures because it is stretched too far?

            On a drive with a new friend one Saturday to transport my ‘new-to-me’ washer and dryer, she asked, “What sustains you?”

I answered without hesitation, “Our Earth in all her rhythms and beauty. The energy in all that is.” I had no doubt, no reservation. Some would argue that I am not accepting or knowing or depending on “God”. If they are categorizing “God” as the fellow sitting on a cloud with a white beard and a pointy finger, I don’t accept him. What I do accept is the multifaceted way the details of each moment, day, season, year present themselves to me while I walk through my life. If I am worried, restless, anxious, sad, glad, angry, I breathe the air and drink water both with huge gulps. However much I need to be nurtured and patted on the back, I only have to stand in the sun and feel the presence of aliveness seep into my muscles and bones. The smells of whatever is blooming stop me in my tracks. I am offered blessings whenever I take the time to notice.

What I’m realizing is that I didn’t really move that far away from what I was after 33 years of living the life I lived with my husband. I’ve strengthened who I am and I am more able to exemplify the person I am in the way I want to express it. I can do my life my way instead of the way I did it as a wife and companion, mother and nurse.

As I think on it, that’s what made this move harder, not the physical effort, but the conscious attention I gave to all the details, plus the excitement and anxiety of putting my life back together for me and my beliefs. "I am what I am, I am , I am."