Criminy. When I started up my blog again on the day after Christmas, I had just read an article on the significance of the twelve days following Christmas: this author explained that these twelve days were "empty" and that, by being observant, a person could find symbols (usually in the natural world) in each of the days that could provide a glimpse of what was to happen in each of the corresponding months that year. So something that might strike me on the first day would be a foreshadowing of a larger event in January; something I noted on the second day would prepare me for something occurring in February and so on. I'm pretty sure that I garbled up what the author meant, but anyway, I was intrigued, so jumped in give it a try.
Tonight I went back to try to refresh my memory on the meaning of the twelve days. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the original place where I read about the twelve days, but found a vast jumble of facts in a whole lot of other websites on the subject.
As it turns out, I knew even less than I thought -- most importantly, that the first day of Christmas is actually Christmas Day, December 25. As I began my twelve days on the 26th, I actually started reblogging on the second day of Christmas but incorrectly titled it The First Day of Christmas. How do I correct this error? Do I change the dates? That seems wrong. Change the titles completely to wipe away my mistake? That's even wronger. Leave it as-is and hope no one from the Days of Christmas Police notices? Probably: the chance that anyone would ever notice is other-galaxy remote. And if someone did note my mistake, it's even remoter that they would care. And even if they did care, so what?
More to the point, I am laughing to see how anxious I am to get everything "right". It bugs me that I'm a day off. It annoys me that I can't figure out how to salvage the observations I made for each day so that I can apply them to the correct month. I realize that the whole thing is silly, but I can't help that. I have nothing for the first day (December 25) and all the rest are a day off. The only one who cares is me. Soooooooo....
On the Eleventh Day of Christmas, I toyed with the idea of fixing a mistake and decided instead to pat it on the head and move along. So this is me moving along.
(Thank God that tomorrow is the twelfth - and last - day of Christmas).
Pond!
Monday, January 4, 2016
Sunday, January 3, 2016
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Ninth Day
There are a series of storms lined up to move, one by one, into California over the next week or so. A fair amount of rain is forecast (three cheers for that), which gave us the push needed to tackle a project that we've put off for far too long
Several years I had the idea to place a large flat rock to serve as a bridge over the drainage ditch that leads to the pond. At the same time, I had the less-bright idea to put in two 12" metal culvert pipes for the water to go through. I don't remember why I thought this was necessary. But the worst idea of all was planting willow cuttings all up and down the banks.
The willows loved their new home and each year have taken over more and more of the ditch. I tried to keep up with the pruning, but let it slip by me last year. Blame it on the drought. This winter we discovered that willow roots had almost completely clogged both pipes under our stone bridge.
With rain on it's way, it was time to remove the pipes so that the water wouldn't flow over the road
It took us the better part of the day to get those pipes out of there. Bruce used the Kabota tractor to do the heavy lifting and pulling, but we also attacked the pipes with shovels, log rollers, loppers (to cut willow roots), and even a small serrated trowel.
We finally managed to drag the stone bridge out of the way, get both pipes lifted out and the stone moved back. It was almost dark by then, so clean-up must wait. But now the runoff from next week's rains will run under the bridge.
Several years I had the idea to place a large flat rock to serve as a bridge over the drainage ditch that leads to the pond. At the same time, I had the less-bright idea to put in two 12" metal culvert pipes for the water to go through. I don't remember why I thought this was necessary. But the worst idea of all was planting willow cuttings all up and down the banks.
The willows loved their new home and each year have taken over more and more of the ditch. I tried to keep up with the pruning, but let it slip by me last year. Blame it on the drought. This winter we discovered that willow roots had almost completely clogged both pipes under our stone bridge.
With rain on it's way, it was time to remove the pipes so that the water wouldn't flow over the road
It took us the better part of the day to get those pipes out of there. Bruce used the Kabota tractor to do the heavy lifting and pulling, but we also attacked the pipes with shovels, log rollers, loppers (to cut willow roots), and even a small serrated trowel.
We finally managed to drag the stone bridge out of the way, get both pipes lifted out and the stone moved back. It was almost dark by then, so clean-up must wait. But now the runoff from next week's rains will run under the bridge.
Tomorrow I put on my teacher hat again. Lesson plans are finished and, while not as ready as I'd like to be (I rarely am), I'm ready enough.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Eighth Day
I woke up at three in the morning and lay there worrying about life, school and all the things I hadn't done over break. Silly thing to do: lying in bed and fretting. After half an hour of this and feeling more miserable with every minute, I decided DO something: go my classroom for a few hours today to check it over and just make things a bit more welcoming for the students and myself come Monday morning. With that settled, I got up to feed the cats, made coffee and brought a cup back to bed with me. There I relaxed and read my book with Arby cuddled next to me.
The classroom was still, dark and cold when Bruce dropped me off at school around noon (we had a sushi lunch beforehand, so I was well-fortified). He left to get a haircut and I marched over to Room 7 and walked through the door to my "teacher" life. The plants in the window looked droopy and sad and one very possibly had withered away. I switched on the heat and, then watered all the plants (the one that looked dead actually seemed to have a bit of life right at its base after all). I threw away last year's calendars and put up a colorful new one: photographs of horses. Then my friend Sally stopped by with a bag of oranges. It was so good to see her and just chat for a little while -- that is the blessing of a friend. After she left, I changed one of my bulletin boards. And that was all I did -- it wasn't much, but it was enough. I left the heat on very low so the room would be warm on Monday morning when I came in from yard duty.
Bruce came to pick me up and we decided to drive the long way home, along the Stanislaus River. It was the only sight-seeing journey I made over the last two weeks, but I enjoyed gazing out at the landscape of water, trees, cows, egrets, clouds and houses. On reflection, observing the world rolling past as I looked out the window was a lot like lying in bed with my coffee while reading A Circle of Quiet.
There was a point during these winter days at home when I was acutely disappointed by their dullness and sameness. I also felt guilty for not wishing to celebrate Christmas this year. Yet I lacked the energy or will to do more than just rest and be still. So that's what I did. And, without consciously realizing it, I built the space to begin coming to terms with the sorrow of Becky's passing. In the process, I've begun to appreciate again the sorts of things that I love: books, music, fire glowing in the woodstove, birds on the feeders, ice on the pond, some lovely rain storms, pruning trees, warming my hands at the burn pile, Scrabble in the evenings with the love of my life...
Oh, and of course, coffee in bed.
The classroom was still, dark and cold when Bruce dropped me off at school around noon (we had a sushi lunch beforehand, so I was well-fortified). He left to get a haircut and I marched over to Room 7 and walked through the door to my "teacher" life. The plants in the window looked droopy and sad and one very possibly had withered away. I switched on the heat and, then watered all the plants (the one that looked dead actually seemed to have a bit of life right at its base after all). I threw away last year's calendars and put up a colorful new one: photographs of horses. Then my friend Sally stopped by with a bag of oranges. It was so good to see her and just chat for a little while -- that is the blessing of a friend. After she left, I changed one of my bulletin boards. And that was all I did -- it wasn't much, but it was enough. I left the heat on very low so the room would be warm on Monday morning when I came in from yard duty.
Bruce came to pick me up and we decided to drive the long way home, along the Stanislaus River. It was the only sight-seeing journey I made over the last two weeks, but I enjoyed gazing out at the landscape of water, trees, cows, egrets, clouds and houses. On reflection, observing the world rolling past as I looked out the window was a lot like lying in bed with my coffee while reading A Circle of Quiet.
There was a point during these winter days at home when I was acutely disappointed by their dullness and sameness. I also felt guilty for not wishing to celebrate Christmas this year. Yet I lacked the energy or will to do more than just rest and be still. So that's what I did. And, without consciously realizing it, I built the space to begin coming to terms with the sorrow of Becky's passing. In the process, I've begun to appreciate again the sorts of things that I love: books, music, fire glowing in the woodstove, birds on the feeders, ice on the pond, some lovely rain storms, pruning trees, warming my hands at the burn pile, Scrabble in the evenings with the love of my life...
Friday, January 1, 2016
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Seventh Day
New Year's Day: I spent it cleaning the house for a visit from an elderly former neighbor, Faye, and her great-grandson, Kel.
I had no idea what I wanted on this first day of the new year...but was certain that I did not want to spend the morning dusting and vacuuming. Or putting on make-up and fixing my hair. Or dealing with company of any sort. But Faye has been a faithful admirer of Cornelius from back in the days when she lived on the other side of the road and fed him carrots on a regular basis. And Kel had been with her sometimes when she stopped to feed treats. I didn't know him very well, but when he was about nine, I let him get up on Corny bareback. His little legs almost stuck out sideways on my broad-backed horse, but he perched up there like a small, very enthusiastic sultan.
Kel lives in the Bay Area with his mother, but visits Faye every Christmas. In spite of my doldrums, I decided to get Corny cleaned up and saddled today so that Kel, if he wanted to, could really ride for the first time. When they drove up, he hopped out of the car I saw that he'd turned into a long-legged almost teenager. I wondered if this sixth-grader had turned too old or too cool to want to ride. I needn't have worried. He dashed up to us and, without even taking the time to say hello, begged to ride. I think he might have actually hopped up and down a bit.
I smiled and told him, of course -- that Corny had been waiting for him.
My horse was bemused by this enthusiastic human. He liked this kind boy who chattered on about everything, but who also intuitively knew how to stroke a horse's nose so very gently.
We didn't do much except walk around the arena and then head across the pasture back to the house. But the sky was very blue, the sun shone and the dogs frolicked.
Kel beamed down at the world from the back of his noble steed. Corny was obviously delighted to be carrying this young man. And I -- I was just happy to be surrounded by such happiness.
A good beginning to a new year.
I had no idea what I wanted on this first day of the new year...but was certain that I did not want to spend the morning dusting and vacuuming. Or putting on make-up and fixing my hair. Or dealing with company of any sort. But Faye has been a faithful admirer of Cornelius from back in the days when she lived on the other side of the road and fed him carrots on a regular basis. And Kel had been with her sometimes when she stopped to feed treats. I didn't know him very well, but when he was about nine, I let him get up on Corny bareback. His little legs almost stuck out sideways on my broad-backed horse, but he perched up there like a small, very enthusiastic sultan.
Kel lives in the Bay Area with his mother, but visits Faye every Christmas. In spite of my doldrums, I decided to get Corny cleaned up and saddled today so that Kel, if he wanted to, could really ride for the first time. When they drove up, he hopped out of the car I saw that he'd turned into a long-legged almost teenager. I wondered if this sixth-grader had turned too old or too cool to want to ride. I needn't have worried. He dashed up to us and, without even taking the time to say hello, begged to ride. I think he might have actually hopped up and down a bit.
I smiled and told him, of course -- that Corny had been waiting for him.
My horse was bemused by this enthusiastic human. He liked this kind boy who chattered on about everything, but who also intuitively knew how to stroke a horse's nose so very gently.
We didn't do much except walk around the arena and then head across the pasture back to the house. But the sky was very blue, the sun shone and the dogs frolicked.
Kel beamed down at the world from the back of his noble steed. Corny was obviously delighted to be carrying this young man. And I -- I was just happy to be surrounded by such happiness.
A good beginning to a new year.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Sixth Day
Apparently, the Sixth Day of Christmas is also New Year's Day Eve. Who knew? I woke up early, fed the cats and brought my coffee back to bed where I got crawled back in (still warm) to read and sip in comfort. Bliss (after I retire, I plan to start every day this way).
The book in my hands this morning was A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle. The blurb on the back of the book describes it thus: "I know it will give great consolation to ordinary people who sometimes wonder why they bother to get out of bed in the morning." -- Jean Kerr
Even though I knew why I'd bothered to get out of bed on this particular morning (e.g., to feed the cats before they attacked and to get my coffee), this author's words are a consolation and a revelation. She says that some things can only be understood intuitively rather than in terms of provable fact. "An infinite question is often destroyed by finite answers" is one sentence that sang true. Another was, "The deeper and richer a personality is, the more full it is of paradox and contradiction." These quotes don't seem to mean much out of context...or do they?
Anyway, when, three cups later, I got out of that toasty bed, I felt consoled. Enough, in fact, to get dressed and go outside in the frosty morning to take pictures of the last sunrise of the year.
The book in my hands this morning was A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle. The blurb on the back of the book describes it thus: "I know it will give great consolation to ordinary people who sometimes wonder why they bother to get out of bed in the morning." -- Jean Kerr
Even though I knew why I'd bothered to get out of bed on this particular morning (e.g., to feed the cats before they attacked and to get my coffee), this author's words are a consolation and a revelation. She says that some things can only be understood intuitively rather than in terms of provable fact. "An infinite question is often destroyed by finite answers" is one sentence that sang true. Another was, "The deeper and richer a personality is, the more full it is of paradox and contradiction." These quotes don't seem to mean much out of context...or do they?
Anyway, when, three cups later, I got out of that toasty bed, I felt consoled. Enough, in fact, to get dressed and go outside in the frosty morning to take pictures of the last sunrise of the year.
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Wednesday, December 30, 2015
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Fifth Day
Another tradition that will be staying; living Christmas trees strung with a few lights and placed in front of the glass of the double doors.
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For the past few years, we've gotten California incense cedars. They're native to this region and don't need much summer water so they do very well at Frogpond. If it isn't too cold, my plan is to get them in the ground on New Year's Day. I'm certain that the dogs and Max will be right there helping.
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Fourth Day
Actually, today is the Fifth Day of Christmas: I forgot all about blogging yesterday until I was in bed ready to fall asleep. This is what comes of not doing something for so long. So here is what I would have posted for the Fourth Day, had I remembered.
Arby planted himself on my apron on cookie-making day and I didn't have the heart to move him. So he supervised from his perch while I stirred up a batch of spice cookies.
I must admit that I took little joy in Christmas festivities this year. For years I've tried to keep alive the magic that I'd felt as a child, but have felt it slipping away as the decades passed. I remember the long ago winter evenings of lying under the Christmas tree with the room dark except for the blinking of colored lights in the branches and the sparkle of tinsel. For a brief time, the mundane world was transformed into something infinitely glorious and mystical.
This year, as I plodded into the Christmas season, I finally realized that I no longer wished to force myself into these rituals any longer. As a child, feeling as I do today would have been inconceivable and heartbreaking. But trying to keep this fire lit in the old ways has become fossilized and meaningless. So this year I tried to steer away from the old ways of celebrating winter and worked to reinvent how I approach the season. This attempt had mixed results, but I think I'm on the right track.
The good news is that the activity of baking spice cookies with my cat is a keeper. We'll build around that.
Arby planted himself on my apron on cookie-making day and I didn't have the heart to move him. So he supervised from his perch while I stirred up a batch of spice cookies.
I must admit that I took little joy in Christmas festivities this year. For years I've tried to keep alive the magic that I'd felt as a child, but have felt it slipping away as the decades passed. I remember the long ago winter evenings of lying under the Christmas tree with the room dark except for the blinking of colored lights in the branches and the sparkle of tinsel. For a brief time, the mundane world was transformed into something infinitely glorious and mystical.
This year, as I plodded into the Christmas season, I finally realized that I no longer wished to force myself into these rituals any longer. As a child, feeling as I do today would have been inconceivable and heartbreaking. But trying to keep this fire lit in the old ways has become fossilized and meaningless. So this year I tried to steer away from the old ways of celebrating winter and worked to reinvent how I approach the season. This attempt had mixed results, but I think I'm on the right track.
The good news is that the activity of baking spice cookies with my cat is a keeper. We'll build around that.
Monday, December 28, 2015
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Third Day
Today I read this poem by Canadian poet P.K. Page. I think that my dear husband, bird watcher and admirer of Corvids everywhere, will like it. So:
The Crow
By the wave rising, by the wave breaking
high to low;
by the wave riding the air, sweeping the high air low
in a white foam, in a suds,
there
like a churchwarden, like a stiff
turn-the-eye-inward old man
in a cutaway, in the mist
stands
the crow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Crow
By the wave rising, by the wave breaking
high to low;
by the wave riding the air, sweeping the high air low
in a white foam, in a suds,
there
like a churchwarden, like a stiff
turn-the-eye-inward old man
in a cutaway, in the mist
stands
the crow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday, December 27, 2015
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Second Day
Today was a day of little action and almost no accomplishment. Strangely, it sped by and the afternoon had arrived before I'd barely greeted the morning. On this second day of Christmas I was once again crippled by the anger and hopelessness that comes over me at odd intervals since Becky's death. It's disheartening to still feel so low. Must be twice so for poor Bruce who must bear with me. And he does, with surprisingly good grace.
So, on this second day of Christmas, I am grateful to have pulled out of my low spirits by this evening. I can go to sleep feeling more like my old self.
So, on this second day of Christmas, I am grateful to have pulled out of my low spirits by this evening. I can go to sleep feeling more like my old self.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The First Day
Hello, Blog. I've missed you. So much has happened that the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to gather the energy I thought I'd need to get caught up. I would walk around, living my life and experiencing things, all the while with my writer's eye hard at work catching the action and setting it into words. But these words would stay in my head for a short while and then get booted out by the next event that caught my attention. That's what happens when I don't write things down.
Then on August 5 our daughter, Becky, died by suicide. She was only 31 years old and had bipolar disease. I wasn't surprised when I got the call about her death, but it still shocked me to the core. It's been about five months since that day, and I'm now certain that I'm going to be ok. But I'm never going to be the same. And that's not a bad thing -- it's just the way it is.
So, Blog, I'm back. Now I'll be seeing the world through a different lens. This is unsettling, but also interesting. I'm glad to be back.
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