It's November???

Loose Park, Kansas City

It's November already?

OK.  Who took October, and where did they put it?

Calm down, Janice.  You know perfectly well where October went.  You spent it working at work and working on the house and the days whizzed by while you were thinking you really ought to stop and enjoy the good weather while it was still here.  And then the good weather was gone.  Almost.

Today was gorgeous.  I stopped myself from working long enough to take a walk around the park.  Most of the trees are bare, but there were a few, like the one pictured, still showing glorious color.

I spent most of the weekend putting down the tile subfloor in the addition.  Many years ago, when we did the kitchen floor, we just plunked down the rockboard on top of the plywood and called it good. This time, when I looked the process up on the internet, most people recommended using thinset mortar under the rockboard.

I really didn't want to spend the time and deal with the mess, so I looked at several more websites. The consensus was still to glue the stuff down.  Really?  So I called the tile store.  Sure enough the National Association of Tile Manufacturers HIGHLY recommends gluing the stuff down.

So, I grudgingly glued it down.  And then put in the gazillion screws they want in addition to the glue.  Those stupid boards better not shift and crack my tile - that's all I have to say.  I was most grateful for the good cordless drill I had to help me with the screws.  I can't imagine putting them all in by hand.  My knees are sore enough as it is.  (I don't think I'm meant to kneel on the floor for over an hour any more.  Not that I ever thought I was.)

The goal is to have an operational toilet and sink upstairs by Thanksgiving, when we are having visitors.  Not that I'm getting sick of my rustic stone-walled subterranean bathing facility or anything.

One step at a time...

The Universe Within

Galactic nebula, credit:  NASA

For years I've been intrigued by the images from a website put together by researchers in Florida.  The purported purpose of the website is to illustrate the power of powers of 10.  It shows a series of images scaling in from a picture of the universe, to the earth, to a tree in Florida and into the cellular structure of the tree.

Very factual descriptions of the pictures.  Dry even.

As at teen, I read Madeleine L'Engle's, A Wind in the Door.  It was my first introduction to the world of mitochondria.  She wrote of a struggle between good and evil; the battle scene set within the body of a young boy.

I go back to the site every now and then, intrigued by the scale of the universe.  The stars outside are mirrored by the stars within.  And though I can't quite make the connection, I wonder if L'Engle was on to something.

I look at the pictures, but I can't grasp the scale of the stars without.
I look at the pictures, but I can't grasp the scale of the stars within.

And I wonder.

Could it be that it's all linked on some cosmic scale?  When I take care of myself, do I bring good not only to the part of me I'm aware of, but to some distant star within?  Is that that star within linked to the stars without?  When we do violence to one another here on earth, do the stars cry in reflected pain?  When we reach out to help another, do the stars rejoice?

Does the strength within that I draw on when my own strength fails come from the stars?
It's an intriguing thought.

If you'd like to see the images, they can be found at:
http://micro.magnet.fsu.edu/primer/java/scienceopticsu/powersof10/

Kids These Days

On Monday afternoons, from 4 to 4:30, my job assignment is to stand in the back lot of the school and watch the children as they wait for their rides.  It's easy duty, especially on nice fall afternoons.

This past week, as I was standing there, I noticed one of the girls crying off to the side.  Her friends were with her, so I didn't try to intervene, but stood nearby in case they needed help.

She didn't want to tell them what was wrong.  I could see them asking, but she just shook her head, no, as the tears continued to fall.

After a few minutes one of the boys quit talking and reached over and gently removed her earbuds and set them aside.  He took her electronics, her books, and added them to a careful pile.

He leaned in, took her hands, and as he pulled her to her feet, began to sing, "Do you want to build a snowman? Come on, let's go and play!"  (from the movie Frozen)

He pulled her into a giant hug.  "I never see you any more, come on out the door, it's like you've gone away!"

She began to smile through her tears.  "We used to be best buddies, and now we're not.  I wish you would tell me why."

Her tears dried up.  "Do you want to build a snowman?  It doesn't have to be a snowman..."

She smiled a real smile.

Her friends left, the tears didn't return.  She was even still smiling a little.

Good friends.
They made my week.

Kanopolis

Kanopolis, KS

I love the way the word Kanopolis rolls off the tongue.

It was my last night on the road this summer.  I'd picked the park because it was a state park, more or less on my way home, halfway through Kansas.

The park is geared to horseback riding.  There are not only trails throughout the park, but corrals for the horses in the campground area.  (all for only $29 / night)

I pulled in around four, and Scrap, a big, beautiful bear of a dog from the campsite next door, came over to say hullo.  (His owners call him Scrap because someone dropped him off like he was worthless scrap - they think otherwise.)  Ted, his owner, came over to call him off, and we got to talking.  His wife, Amy, came out to join us, and we talked some more.  They offered me a drink, then dinner.  It was cold, the temps on their way down to near freezing, but the fire and the company kept me warm.

The only time I went back to my camper during the evening to plug it in and make us a salad for my contribution to dinner.  (a rare occurrence)

I fell in love with them.  She was warm and friendly.  He would have fit in perfectly back around the turn of the century, last century.  The self-reliant type, able to fix anything, short on words, long on heart.  They are the kind of people that, once on your side, you know have your back.  More at home on the back of a horse than in a truck.  I could picture them at home, her working as a Postmaster in town, him running the farm.  Not always an easy life, but together they get through the troubles.

It's good to know there are still people like that in this world.  The next morning as I began to drive away, they came out of their camper.  I waved and started to take off, then stopped and jumped out of the truck for a hug goodbye.

Some friends we have for just a moment...

The Sheetrock Came!

yes, that's Monster, back in his Box with Water!

I called them three weeks ago, right after I'd finished the last of the prep work.  I didn't dare call before I was actually ready because if they just happened to be free and they showed up before I had my ducks lined up, I'm thinking that Melvern Figge would not have been happy.  And it's unwise to get on the bad side of your contractor before the job even starts.

So, I've been waiting.  Almost patiently even.  It's helped that I have plenty to do outside to finish the painting before winter sets in.  And work's been super busy since I came back.

Figge (it's pronounced figgy.  like the pudding.  I haven't even thought about asking him what dish he brings to holiday gatherings.  I'm sure he's heard it before.  But it makes me smile to think about it...)

where was I?

Oh, yes.  Figge called on Monday, letting me know they'd be dropping off the sheetrock late this week.  He called Thursday to let me know it would be delivered Friday afternoon.  He called Friday afternoon to let me know they'd be there on Saturday to hang the rock unless I had some objections.

Objections to progress?  Not I!

They showed up bright and early on Saturday morning, a crew of six hangers and Figge to supervise.  They worked until about four - and got it all installed.  Kitchen, laundry room, bathroom and garage.  I was impressed.

Even though I know it's done, it's startling me a bit each time I turn on the kitchen light, and it has walls.  and, it's catching me by surprise each time I climb the stairs - did you know someone put a room at the top of the stair?

Progress!

The Rabbit

Lathrop State Park, CO

I try to add a bit of beauty to the world when I can, and often pick up trash as I walk as an easy way to feel I've helped nature out just a bit.  As I was walking along the banks of the river near the place I was staying near Glacier Park in Montana, I picked up a cigarette lighter and some bug spray.  I picked up a stray piece of paper or two, and an old abandoned stuffed rabbit.

When I got back to the house, I added the bug spray to their collection on the porch (they have some killer mosquitoes up that-a-way), and went to throw out the rest.  I easily threw out the lighter, but stopped when I got to the rabbit.

I couldn't just throw it in the trash, it had been loved.  It had just one ear, and someone had picked off much of the fur on the lower half of its body.  It hadn't been outside long; there was no rain or animal damage to the poor bedraggled thing.  Unable to convince me to callously pitch it, I somewhat sheepishly tucked into one of the cabinets in the camper.  I didn't know what I was going to do with it - I certainly didn't want to add a battered stuffed animal to my life - so I carried it with me for much of the trip.  I opened its cabinet a lot; several times I went to throw it away, and just couldn't.  Finally, I decided I would burn it at the next quiet campsite I stayed at.  I've always loved the story of the Velveteen Rabbit - I thought I could send the spirit of this little guy to join his.

When I got to Lathrop State Park in Walsenburg, CO, I found the perfect site.  Quiet; no one to think I was nuts as I cremated some poor defenseless stuffed animal.  Plenty of small sticks to create a funeral pyre.  Still feeling a little foolish, I lit the fire, put the rabbit on top, and watched it burn to ashes.

Feeling sad, I decided to talk a walk about the park.  As I came around the corner of the restroom building, I saw a rabbit.  The only one I saw on the the entire trip.  He stopped, looked back at me, stretched just a bit, then leisurely made his way into the bushes.

Maybe, just maybe, the little fellow I found became Real.  I like to think so.

Mesa Verde National Park

Mesa Verde, CO

They built their homes of stone and mortar into the sides of the cliffs.  The building was an exercise in patience - they had no metal tools, and used stronger stones to shape the weaker ones.  They did their work some 800 years ago - then left the area because it was time to go, so say the modern Pueblo people.

When they left, they left their spirits behind.  Even in the midst of the crowd of tourists, I swear I could feel their presence.  Some of the protected areas of the dwellings still show the marks of soot on the ceiling.  I can envision someone coming home to the welcome warmth of the fire after hunting in the cold, someone baking the daily corn tortillas to feed their family.

wall painting, Mesa Verde, CO

In one tower, you can see a picture left behind on a plaster wall.  It's simple, red on white.  To see it now, you must lean in and look up.  Then, there was a floor right there - it's just at the right height for wall art if one is sitting on the floor.  (The picture here rotated itself 90 degrees; it's feeling contrary this morning...)

Mesa Verde, CO

They were an agile people.  The dwellings are well-sheltered, but built halfway up (or down) the side of the cliff.  We tourists used sturdy ladders to get down to the site and then back up to the parking lot.  Next to the ladders, we could see the hand and foot holds they cut into the rock to get to the top to tend their crops (they farmed the mesa tops), and down to the base.  I'm sure they had a way to get the injured and less-able up and down, but the journey would not have been for the faint of heart.

Though the weight of time between the days the buildings were new and now was palpable, I wanted to meet them, the long-departed engineers and artists.  I admire their tenacity, their spirit, their love of beauty.

They stayed here just three generations.  It is said they left because there was a long period when the crops failed, and they moved on in search of a place where the corn would always grow.  (Obviously, they never got to Iowa!)  They abandoned their buildings and moved south and west to join the other Pueblo peoples.

I wonder who was the last to leave the village.  Did they linger and cast a longing look behind, or did they resolutely move forward, looking only to their new home?  I can only imagine.

Arches National Park

Arches National Park, Utah

Once I left Portland, I made my way south to Arches National Park near Moab, Utah.

It's a place of wondrous beauty - people come to see it from all over the world.  I heard some Asian languages (I don't know enough about them to tell which is which), French, German, Spanish.  And it's not like this is an easy place to get to.  It's several hours from anywhere; I'm sure for many of those I saw, it was the trip of a lifetime.

There's a single road winding through the park - I must admit I'm glad I wasn't there during peak tourist season.  As it was, many of the parking areas were close to full, and they don't allow you to park outside those lots.  (for good reason; the desert environment is fragile.  Several million feet going everywhere would quickly destroy the beauty.)  Which means, as the road turns into a twenty mile long parking lot during the busy times, you can't stop and admire and take pictures at every pullout.  I'm not much into crowds in remote places.  It's probably a good thing I went as late in the fall as I did.

I read all the literature about how science tells us the arches came to be.  They said the sandstone washed down as gravel over an ancient sea bed and compressed into rock over millenia.  The wind and rains came, the salt eroded away and left the sandstone behind in the form of arches.

I have an explanation I like better.  I think God is into beauty (sure made a lot of it in this world), was experimenting one day, and things worked together just right.

L-O-V-E

Rose Garden, Portland, OR

How do I spell love?

I've felt it in so many ways on this trip.

Before I left, a friend gave me a care package for the road.  Chocolates and a t-shirt and a book to meditate with and a journal and a bubble wand.  (I haven't had a bubble wand in YEARS!).  I was touched beyond words.

I felt it from my family in Minnesota, who changed their plans around to accommodate my schedule.  As they always do when I show up, they opened their homes and their hearts.

I felt it from the couple who loaned me their ladder and glass cleaner and helped me clean the remains of the North Dakota bugs off my van.  (This was no small matter - I've never seen bugs spatter like those bugs did; they not only got the windshield, they managed to dirty the front foot of the side windows.)

One night, at a KOA in eastern Washington, I pulled in just for a place to stay.  I exchanged a few words with the gentleman across the way; turned down the offered drink; I was tired.  The next morning, as I was getting ready to leave, there was a knock on the door.  Would I like a piece of fresh banana bread for the road?

I felt it from Tim, quietly mapping out options for my first night after I was to leave them in Portland; he noted down a couple of options he was sure I'd like.  (and I did...)  I felt it from Jane, emptying her fridge to make sure mine was stocked as I left them.

From the couple in central Kansas.  Again, it was the end of a long day's drive; they were in the campsite next to mine.  They gave me a drink and invited me, a stranger, to dinner.

And from my son, when I got home, cheerfully making trip after trip to help me unload the world's largest travelling suitcase.  And from the friend, sure I wouldn't want to head back out to the store after I'd finally made it home, who brought over some milk and produce to tide me over for a few days.  And from the friend who always takes a minute to send a kind word about almost every blog post.

Love Is.

The Ocean

Cannon Beach, OR

It seemed a shame to go all the way across the country to Portland and not go the last two hours to the coast.  The weather inland was unseasonably warm, so I had very little trouble convincing my friends to play hooky from their Saturday chores and drive me to the shore instead.

I had a wonderful time.  Since I wasn't driving, I was able to look around at the beautiful scenery to my heart's content.  The sky was a perfectly clear blue until we got within a mile of the shore.  Marine layer, they told me.  I'd heard of the phenomenon, but had never experienced it.  The temperature within the embrace of the fog was at least fifteen degrees colder than it had been a mile inland.  amazing.  Fortunately for me, they had warned me of the possibility and I had brought along my jacket.

The cool damp fog dampened my enjoyment of the beach not one whit.  We spent some time walking along the shore, stopped to eat the lunch they'd so thoughtfully packed us, then headed up the coast a ways to see if the layer would lift.

Astoria, OR

We stopped twice more.  Once at St. Steven's park to see the remains of a shipwreck (notable in that all made it to shore alive), and again in Astoria, at the mouth of the Columbia river.  Jane and I talked pretty much non-stop the entire way - it had been several years since I had last seen her, and we had a lot to catch up on.

We made it back to Portland in time for dinner; they treated me to dinner at one of Tim's favorite sushi restaurants.

Let's see.  They gave up a Saturday, drove, packed lunch, knew the best places to stop, and also provided dinner.  I provided my charming company.  hmmm...  Feeling mighty loved, I am.