Real Imaginary Traveler

Like A River

2011-06-05T08:59:00.000-07:00

The river. It changes every day just like life. My friend said she met a man on the train who said his name was Truth. They had a long conversation about the river. So many questions one can ask if they think of life as a river.
Are you the falls?
Are you rapids, eddies, under currents, the source, the mouth, the delta?
Are your waters muddy or clear, cold from melting ice or snow pack?
Are you a steamy jungle river full of danger, dark with mystery and strange, large creatures?
Truth said he came from the bottom of the river and stood up.
And when you stand up in the river, it changes the course.

Sometimes, When A Bird Cries Out

2011-03-05T10:42:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.
My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, and were my brothers.
My soul turns into a tree,
And an animal, and a cloud bank.
Then changed and odd it comes home
And asks me questions. What should I reply?
Herman Hesse

It's All About Distractions When Time Holds Your Creativity Captive

2011-03-01T09:41:00.000-08:00

Ransom Note Poetry
You should
Think
Learn to know
Flashes of its fire
By heart
My soul
Whispered
Into my ear
I’ll go anywhere with you!

It’s just smart to
See the
Impressive statement
But
My heart
Cut it
To derail the most
Pernicious myths
And perilous pitfalls.

I’m ready
To
Save you
From a wildfire
Stop imagining
Solo flights of fancy
It’s why even the longest rides go by too fast.

I can’t see
Currently
A life-changing amount of
Cash
You should
Brighten your dark rooms with
Friendly no problem
Kisses.

Don’t be
Surprised
It can’t be
One more
Abusive lab test.

So You Think It's Just A Phase

2011-02-12T12:48:00.000-08:00

Overlooking The Alsea River

So how does it feel to be drinking Scotch so early in the day and I said I’d continue wearing black for as long as I want to.
The reindeer pelts nodded to the silent drums round.
The sun clouded is out the window to my left.
The river looking right and all the while bird song plays the wind chimes and I have burned my last candle.

There Is No Longing In This House

2011-02-12T09:05:00.000-08:00

I am not inspired in this house
There is no horizon
There is no future
It was designed
To protect and keep young girls
Safe from their own longings.

There is no longing in this house.

Peaceful and restful
And I am ready to travel.

There is no bird song nor wild sounds
No sun filled morning room where canaries sing
There is no room of evening after glow
No warm summer porch nights

The house has no longing

Until you come to the place
Where your own nostalgia is so
Persistent.
It can no longer be ignored

No vista
No tracking of the moon
Across the star filled sky.

I have come here to see it to know it
This every February illness
My Brigid comes to me
Fire of fever to burn away
The accumulation of winter
Stagnation.
Freeing me with clear head vision
To see again

This house has no horizon.

Some of those
Who love me
Whose lives are
Touched by me
Want
Sensing my tired weariness
Desire
To protect me
Preserve me imaging
My need to be kept safe
Rather than realizing my need to be free

And it is then that tiredness is fed.

It grows
When it is the freedom needs feeding
I am called by that
Fooled by my own tired longing
Forgetting to remember it is freedom.
I need not rest
Protection
My tiredness comes from constant struggles

To be free
The freedom must be.

Sourced
From a deep abiding courage
A heart of trust
I am a writer
A story teller
I teach more
From that place than from a place of teaching.

The Beauty and the Challenge of the Circle

2011-01-29T18:08:00.000-08:00

“The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.”

Ivy Baker Priest, 1905-1975.

An American political figure who served as Treasurer of the United States under president Dwight D. Eisenhower.

How do you know the difference between a beginning and an ending? Is there a difference? Have you ever been in such a place in your life where you were not sure?
Do you believe that all things, all life, are or is a circle? If so, how can there be beginnings or endings. The answers to these questions may require that you get down to the bare bones, or to the structure or framework of your beliefs.
What is interesting to consider is how opposite your feelings and emotions can be for each of these two things.

In one case you may be devastated and overwhelmed by the ending of something.

In another instance the end can actually bring great joy and release.

You may grieve deeply at the beginning of something.

You may be inspired at the beginning of something else.
So perhaps what matters most is just that you allow yourself to have the experience by allowing yourself to have the feelings.
Is this the beauty and the challenge of the circle?

Forgotten, Hidden & Forbidden. Class February 6. Discussion of this topic: Skeleton Trees of Beginnings and Endings.

Creation

2011-01-28T09:46:00.000-08:00

She said she was a triple water sign. Fluid, emotional, slippery yet frozen in places, like Isa, the rune of ice.
He was fire, all fire, flashes and flare ups and intensity.
He said all her water put his fire out.
She said his fire started to melt some of her ice.
Perhaps in the chaos of fire melting ice they did not know the Norse story of creation.

Patience

2011-01-27T21:48:00.000-08:00

Perhaps Taurus is solid, grounded, patient in the body. Perhaps he is this and more because of that. Perhaps not.
Perhaps Sagitarrius is forever shooting arrows, rapid, sure-fire, horse legs, running.
I learned patience from carrying new life inside my body, waiting, growing, not knowing. It came forth when it was ready, no sooner, as does all life.

Stirring the Cauldron

2011-01-26T19:00:00.000-08:00

Think not that this is only about cooking!

The ancient Celts believed that the body had three cauldrons or energy centers:

The cauldron of warming located in the belly. It holds the life force.

The cauldron of sacred calling or vocation located in the heart.

The cauldron of knowledge and wisdom centered in the head.

When you stir these cauldrons so they are all three aligned you are tuned into universal life force.

Stirring the cauldron can refer also to creativity and aliveness for the cauldron, like the womb, is the place in which things grow and gestate and from which new life comes forth.

Stirring the cauldron can also connect you with your sexuality and passions.

How do you stir the cauldron?

This is the topic I will discuss and explore Sunday in the class: Forgotten, Hidden & Forbidden: The Wisdom of the Dark Moon.

www.rootedinwisdom.com

Creativity Burnout

2011-01-23T19:09:00.000-08:00

"The bird flutters round us, swift as light, beauteous in color, charming in song...He wings his way in the glimmer of the Northern Lights over the plains of Lapland, and hops among the flowers in the short Greenland summer...The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him?...on Shakspeare's shoulder he sat in the guise of Odin's raven, and whispered in the poet's ear "Immortality!""

The Phoenix Bird by Hans Christian Andersen - 1850

When your creative fires burnout, do you rise again from the ashes? And if so, how?

Is your creativity sourced from your mind or your soul?

The Wolf Ate The Moon Last Night

2010-12-21T17:44:00.000-08:00

Far Away and Long Ago 1920 by Willy Pogany (Skoll chases the sun and Hati chases the moon)

In the endless turning of the wheel, Mani the Moon god, brother to Sunna the Sun goddess, crosses the the night sky in a chariot pulled by horses. He is chased by the wolf Hati who is forever trying to catch him When the wolf catches the moon there is a lunar eclipse. Did perhaps the wolf spit the moon out last night?
Children of old would bang pots hoping to scare away the wolf.
Did you hear any pots banging?
And do you know that Monday is named after the moon?
How difficult is it to change our perceptions and think of the moon as male rather than female?
Does believing the moon to be female cast it in a perennially passive role?
Is it possible to shift and think of the moon as male, always reflecting the glory and power of the female?
Perhaps our modern gender bias has little or no place in the realm of the Gods and Goddessess. Do we struggle needlessly trying to fit them into our narrow perceptions and limited perspectives? Such changes can be no doubt as frightening as the wolf chasing the moon.
Happy Winter Solstice,
Ingrid
www.rootedinwisdom.com
There is still space available in my Celtic Spirit Wheel class in Portland, OR. beginning January 12, 2011.
Also, I have a 4 day retreat coming in February at Marylhurst, Oregon. Accommodations are available for those who are interested.

Bringing Hearth Back Into The Holidays

2010-12-10T11:54:00.000-08:00

Throughout history the hearth has been a place of warmth and light, food and hospitality. Imagine a time when the last thing that was done at night was the tending of the hearth fire, a banking of the coals and a blessing or prayer being said that the embers of the fire would stay alive through the night so it could be rekindled in the morning. Imagine also that with the first light of dawn, the hearth would once again be tended, fuel added, the fire stoked and slowly the room would fill with light and warmth
The hearth was a gathering place, a place of safety and rest from the outside world, a place where families came together to eat and share what was on their minds and in their hearts.
This time of year in the northern hemisphere is a time of long nights and short days, a time of cold and damp. It is a perfect time to remember the sacredness of the hearth and to look for ways to bring its spirit into your home.
If you don't have an actual fireplace, woodstove or hearth in your home, what can you do?
Why not create a special place in your home where you bring in the essence of the hearth? Perhaps set aside a place on a table or shelf where you can have candles and things from nature that represent the season, things such as leaves, evergreen branches, acorns, pine cones, special stones. Place things there to remind you of your many blessings and gifts.
Take the time each morning and each evening to give attention to this sacred place. Light the candles, call upon the spirit of fire to bless you and your family. Honor the gift of warmth and light, food and community. Be conscious of all that you enjoy. Take nothing for granted.
You might ask yourself each day:

What in my life needs tending?
Do I need to bank the coals for the night?
What needs more fuel?
Is there something present in my life where the fire has gone out?
Do I need to reignite something or perhaps take out the ashes?

As a keeper of the hearth, ask yourself:

Is my home a reflection of who I am?
Is it full of clutter and junk, or perhaps things that are broken or no longer being used?
Is my home a safe haven or do I bring in the chaos, confusion and negativity from the outside world?
Does my home feel like a place of peace or stife?
What can I do to honor my hearth? my home? my heart?

The hearth also represented a place of hospitality. This winter season you might wish to consider various ways you could share with others the gifts of abundance that you enjoy, not in the form of consumerism but rather in acts of kindness and love.

In the tradition of the spirit wheel of the Celts, the hearth is in the East. If you wish to know more about the Celtic Spirit Wheel, I will be teaching a class in Portland, Oregon in January 2011.

Chaos and Order

2010-10-27T20:50:00.000-07:00

" Life cannot exist without the balance of chaos and order and the constant movement back and forth between the two.
I am Fenris, wolf of chaos. I am wild and greatly feared. It is my nature as a wolf.
I trusted Tyr for it was he who fed me.
Yet somehow I sensed a trick.
I asked my friend for a sign of good faith, a sign that I could trust him.
Of course, in the end, I had to close my jaws.
He lied to me. He betrayed my trust.
And I am bound, sword rammed into my mouth, too painful to even speak of and yet, it is he who is honored.
All that does not fit within the structure of the order is maligned. My parents, my siblings and me. None of us fit.
Yet life cannot exist with order only.
Light cannot be favored over darkness nor can one spend time only in the branches of the World Tree, forgetting her roots.
When did it become acceptable for someone to lie to me and betray me just because the very nature of my very being did not fit within the structure of someone else's need?
Odin will lose in the end. It was he who feared me all along."

When The Veil Is Thin

2010-10-25T22:54:00.000-07:00

What is remembered lives. This liminal time of the year when we can pass more easily between the seen and the unseen, the place of this and other, of the living and the living.

Loki's Children

2010-10-25T22:47:00.001-07:00

And so in the rune class we decided to rewrite the story from the perspective of the wolf.

Perhaps you might like to know the reason why.

Is It A Moose? or Is It An ElK?

2010-09-30T23:48:00.000-07:00

Depending on where you live in the world there are differences between what is called an elk and what is called a moose. The animal called alces alces is a moose in North American and an elk in Europe.

So the North American moose is the European elk.

The animal called cervus canadensis is an elk or wapiti in North America.

The North American elk is not the European elk, it is the European red deer or stag.

And in Europe an elk is not what we know as an elk but rather a moose.

The above discussion was part of the rune class I taught a couple of weeks ago. We discussed the rune Algiz which is sometimes called the rune of the Elk but in light of the information above we all wondered if that meant that it was the rune of the moose seeing that the elk in Europe is the moose in America. Or was it truly the rune of the animal we call elk which would mean it is the rune of the red deer. Or is it the rune of the reindeer and how does all of this affect the meaning of the Algiz rune? or does it?
I suggested that journeying to the Rune in meditation or in drumming might give more insights as to its meaning and an awareness of some of the subtle energies present that are not even written about. And why are antlered animals seen as creatures symbolic of fire and sun in some of the old traditions.
Oh, and by the way, the above amazing photos were taken by my eldest son, Daniel Hanych while he was recently on vacation in Colorado. And that being said, they are pictures of moose unless you are someone living in Europe who is reading this and then to you they would be pictures of elk.

Confused?

New Leather Boots

2010-09-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

Just yesterday I bought myself a new pair of boots. A bit funky and a bit stylish. I am soon to retire my all time favorites from Italy. Glove soft black leather lined in red leather and with red leather soles. I bought them on the Via Lungo in Lucca, Italy 11 years ago, have worn them almost daily through almost every season. I have resoled them three times and believe it or not, the zipper still works.
I love autumn and cold weather and wearing leather boots. And what makes me very happy is finding boots that are all leather, inside and out. When I find a pair of boots that fits well, is comfortable, and can be resoled I want them to be either lined in leather or unlined because nothing is worse than having fake fleece or fabric that wears out and comes apart long before the leather has even been broken in. It is more and more difficult to find a cobbler, a true shoemaker or even someone who knows how to repair and resole boots. A sad testimony to the day and age of throw away sport shoes that seem to be the standard issue uniform for most Americans.
The additional bonus to the all leather boot discovery is that I found, quite by chance, a family owned shoe store in a small neighborhood in NE Portland, Amenity Shoes, at the corner of Fremont and NE 41st. Liz and Zaki know their inventory and offer a grand selection of unique, quality shoes, handbags, jewelry and other accessories. Great customer service. Personal attention. I am definitely going back and hope to see you there.
And Happy Full Moon to all of you and Happy Autumn Equinox.

St. Anne's Convent in Seattle

2010-09-11T10:17:00.000-07:00

I love the weaving together of the threads of life, the magic of the pattern of the fabric. How would it have been possible to know that I, not Catholic, not even Christian, would find myself welcomed and staying at St. Anne's Convent in Seattle, Washington. That is a story for another time.

I arrived last night from Portland, a bit road weary after several hours in backed up traffic and was greeted at the door by Sisters Cathy and Ethna. I was served coffee and cookies, fresh figs with cheese. Good conversation and lots of questions. My cozy, downstairs bedroom is one of the few with a private bath. There was a welcome sign on the door. Necessary, as there are 13 bedrooms in the convent and it is easy to get lost in the many halls and passages.Leaded glass window in dining room
Built in 1930, St. Anne's Convent is a simplified Tudor Revial design, with gables, bay windows, copper roof and arched, diamond-paned leaded glass. The building was designed by one of Seattle's most prominent architects, A. H. Albertson. Currently the convent is home to several nuns who are members of the order of Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. St. Anne's parish was established in 1906 by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Nisqually. One of the most lovely aspects of the convent is its chapel, located on the south end of the building with the altar on the west end. It is a place of prayer and solitude.

I was invited to come to Eastwest Bookshop in Seattle to do a class/presentation about the ancient runes and to be available to provide private, intuitive readings. The wisdom of the runes is sourced from the sacred well at the root of the World Tree, the home of the Nornir, the triple goddesses of Norse tradition. The well and the roots and the dark are all manifestations of the sacred feminine and the power of creativity and spirituality rooted in Her wisdom. It is a perfect piece to weave together with the spiritual direction of the Holy Names Sisters. When we as women unite with each other and put an end to the separations caused by stuctures and institutions we can use our power and force to create new life.

Runes and The Missing Grandmother at Eastwest Bookshop in Seattle

2010-09-09T20:33:00.000-07:00

Sourced from the Well of the Norns at the root of the World Tree, runes connect us with the ancient, earth-honoring spiritual wisdom of the indigenous peoples of northern Europe and Scandinavia. Do you know where the bones of your ancestors are buried? When was the last time you visited the Well?

If you would like to know more about the runes and explore their connection with the missing grandmother come hear me speak at Eastwest Bookshop in Seattle, Washington this weekend, Saturday September 11. I will be available on Sunday for private readings and consultations.

You can also visit my Website for more information.

Sourdough Joe in Portland

2010-09-09T16:40:00.000-07:00

An unexpected surprise. I had noticed him several mornings in a row. His small pickup truck with a camper shell, parked at the curb on one of the side streets I walk in my neighborhood. It was apparant from the bedding that he was sleeping in his truck and each morning I would see him sitting on a small stool, reading a book and cooking breakfast on the tailgate. Various dishes and utensils and a single burner propane stove. A couple of days ago I saw he was making pancakes in a cast iron skillet. I stopped and said hello, acknowleging his cooking. He asked if I would like to have a pancake, sourdough. I accepted. He said his name was Joe. He had stories to tell of travels and life and looking at sourdough starters under microscopes. Joe said he loved waking up in the morning and enjoying the weather outside. He said he should have a place to stay soon. This morning on my walk I noticed he was gone. Perhaps he has joined the old prospector above. Mining for gold. I will think of him as Sourdough Joe. And I will remember the pancake.

Mother, Daughter, Mother

2010-09-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

Mother, daughter, mother. I spend time with both my mother and my daughter. I am both the mother and the daughter. I am both the daughter and the mother. When I am both the parent and the child as well as the child and the parent there is no difference, this is the Triple Goddess, the all in the one. I was inside her, and she was inside me and both of us were inside her, inside the old woman, both the daughter and the daughter's daughter. This is the Triple Goddess for inside the daughter who was inside the mother, was the daughter. And inside the daughter who was inside the daughter, inside the mother, is the daughter who will become the mother and hence the old woman. This is the magic of the Triple Goddess. This is the magic of the Triple Spiral. This is the wisdom we gain when we step into the Circle. This is the power of the ancient knowing.
This is some of what we explore and discuss in the course, Stepping Into The Circle-The Wisdom, Power and Magic of Women.
Ask me if you wish to know more about the course.

A Little Magic

2010-09-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D

A - B - R - A - C - A

A - B - R - A - C

A - B - R - A

A - B - R

A - B

Abracadabra is magical word used in incantations. It was believed to have special healing powers for those who wore amulets inscribed with the word. Sadly, its modern usage often carries a sense of contempt as it is a word applied to concepts that purport to be a simple solution applied to apparently insoluble phenomena, in other words, things that appear to be unable to be solved or dissolved.
I don't know about you but it seems to have great power and possibility in the way it can be written. I believe we could all benefit from adding the word to our daily vocabulary and using it often. We could all use a bit more magic.

Scuttlebutt

2010-08-25T13:55:00.000-07:00

The Scuttlebutt from the USS Constitution
or in other words: The Ship's Drinking Fountain

As some of you know, I am fascinated by words and their origins and definitions. So this morning I was writing my Morning Pages while sitting at Barista, a coffee shop on Alberta Street in NE Portland, Oregon. And as often happens, a word trotted across the road. Scuttlebutt. I had heard someone say the other day, 'the scuttlebutt on the street has it...' So what the heck does that mean? The word has come to be associated with gossip and my question is: How?

One definition of the word scuttle is to cut a hole or holes through the hull of a ship or boat, below the water line, with the intention of sinking it. Hence, a hole. Are you ready for this? A butt is another name for a large barrel or cask used for wine or beer. Just to have a bit more fun, a butt could hold approximately 126 gallons of liquid or two hogsheads. So that led me down the road of what is a hogshead? A clue can be found in other languages such as Dutch, Danish and Old Swedish. In Dutch, for instance, the word is oxhooft which is more accurately translated oxhead, not hogshead and it is believed that this might have been a type of brand used on old casks.

All of that being said, a Scuttlebutt was a wine cask with a hole in it that served as a water fountain for sailors on board a ship. The sailors would gather round to get water and engage in gossip, not unlike the gathering of office employees around the modern day water cooler. They too engage in gossip. So that's how the wine keg with a hole in it became associated with a word meaning gossip. Nowadays so many people carry their own water in fancy bottles all colors and sizes and shapes, with nipple-like nursing spouts, straps or special holders, some plastic, some metal, some glass, the question is: Are there water coolers in offices any more and if they disappear, will the word Scuttlebutt continue to be used? Another question might be: Without the water cooler, will people still gossip?

The Same and Different

2010-05-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

She's my mother and she is also a delightful young girl. She smiles and she cries. She cannot remember at times what happened to her husband of 60+ years, my father. She will ask me every time and I patiently explain and she cries a bit. She remembers more about when her own father was killed when she was just a young woman of 20 with a new husband and new baby.
Each week I take her to the same restaurant, McMinnimin's on the Columbia River. She loves to see the water and the boats, the barges, the yachts and the planes that take off from Portland International airport. We order the same thing every week. It is familiar. She recognizes it. She eats a half turkey sandwich with cheese, tomato, lettuce, no onions. She is always surprised by the cranberry sauce and the tater tots. Coffee, with cream. She can remember to order that herself so she asks the waitress. Every week we have a conversation about who will pay and she takes out her wallet and checks the money several times, counting it and I assure her it is just fine to save it for another time. I will pay for lunch this time. That makes her happy and content.
She stares at people and makes comments. I remind her that staring makes some people nervous. She is my mother. She is my child. Her name is Sigrid. My name is Ingrid. We both carry the names from the tradition of her Swedish father's family.

Dark Moon

2009-10-18T22:41:00.000-07:00

Some nights there is no moon visible. Women are affected by the moon. Men are affected by the moon. Men are affected by women when women are affected by the moon. She said to me this morning that when the moon is dark she feels like she could fall into an enormous hole of sadness and if all the sad people in the world also fell in, there would be no one left. Somehow I missed Saturday. Perhaps I fell into the hole.

Blustery

2009-10-16T16:21:00.000-07:00

Loudly boastful, arrogant or threatening. We sat outside in the dark, a bit of a chill and spoke of the wind as being blustery. Have we imposed judgment. Perhaps the wind has something different in mind.

Lessons in Letting Go

2009-10-15T13:05:00.001-07:00

Sometimes real imaginary traveling looks like jumping from May to October with nothing in between although much has occurred and many journeys have been made.
A certain restlessness often accompanies autumn, a sense that something is about to happen or needs to happen. Autumn leaves are a great lesson in letting go. Not all things must be harvested. Some are just released. Even apples fall to the ground when not picked.
This is the wisdom of the Jera rune, the rune of the turning of the cycles and seasons of nature, of life. All things happen at the right time.

Boundaries

2009-05-18T14:34:00.001-07:00

When you draw a circle to keep things out
Is when you draw a circle to keep things in
Practice speaking truth
In the moment

Early Morning

2009-05-18T14:14:00.001-07:00

Early
morning sunrise
quiet
slow
snails
followed by
black

scurrying beetle
past the house
with standing stone
people
chickens still in coup
power walker
headphone isolation
disconnect
web
small
amber droplet
spider

Flowering Trees in Portland

2009-04-22T23:40:00.000-07:00

Delicate petals of flowering trees gently flutter to the ground littering the lawns with beauty. All of Portland is abloom as the early daffodils bow to the opening tulips. I walk each morning when all is quiet and still. An occasional cat darts across the road. Crows caw at the busy squirrels. Off in the distance I can hear the train. It is down by the river. And the planes as well that slowly descend from the east, the rising sun following them down the runway.

Nostalgia

2009-02-16T18:39:00.001-08:00

From Greek nostos 'return home' + algos 'pain.'

A longing to return home.

If home is where your heart is then perhaps it is a longing to return to yourself.

Or a homesickness for your heart.

Or that feeling that where you are is not who you are.

And the sadness that comes from the pain of not being home.

Memes, Complexity and The Evolving Self

2009-02-03T09:59:00.000-08:00

I love to read and most often read books that not only challenge my knowledge of words, their meanings and usage but also challenge my beliefs and ideas.
With that in mind, I highly recommend The Evolving Self-A Psychology For The Third Millennium by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, psychologist. Among many other things, he speaks about the need for humans to 'develop complexity in our consciousness-to acquire many interests, abilities, and goals and to use them in such a way that they harmonize with and enhance one another.'

"Memes are a unit of cultural information comparable in its effects on society to those of the chemically coded instructions contained in the gene on the human organism." Richard Dawkins, British biologist.

"Is it possible that one of the most dangerous illusions we must learn to see through is the belief that the thoughts we think of and the things we make are under our control, that we can manipulate them at will. The evidence seems to suggest the contrary. The information we generate has a life of its own, and its existence is sometimes symbiotic, sometimes parasitic, relative to ours." The Evolving Self - A Psychology For The Third Millennium by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, psychologist.

Women Who Ride Harleys Also Read Runes

2009-01-30T22:27:00.000-08:00

Visit my website at: Aurochs Return

Aurochs Return - Bringing Back The Wisdom of the Runes

2009-01-30T21:44:00.001-08:00

I am a reader of ancient Nordic runes. They are a part of my inheritance, my ancestry. I was born with the memory of them in my blood. Long ago I realized they were a language I knew from another age. I have devoted my time and energies to bringing back their wisdom, sharing it with those who have an interest and those who are called by them. The runes came to me in my dreams, gently yet powerfully, guiding me to have them tattooed on my forearms for all to see. They provide a profound introduction to who they are and who I am.
I have been reading for others more than 10 years now, privately as well as at fairs and gatherings. The nature and focus of my readings cover all aspects of life. I have worked with individuals in the United States, Canada and Europe using the runes to provide guidance in the sacred, magical and practical. Their wisdom and energy is deeply profound, uniquely subtle and at the same time thunders and roars down through the ages.
As the runes speak through me during your reading they will allow you to rediscover and reclaim your connection with the sacred heritage of this deeply rooted, elemental wisdom.
Their earth-based spirituality is amazingly applicable and greatly needed in this modern world of connected disconnection.
The runes provide answers, guidance, connection and balance and each person who seeks a reading with me has the opportunity to experience something deeply sacred and magical.
Yes, I do charge money for my readings. In another time and place, I would have been called to use my gifts in the service of individuals and families and they would have made offerings of food and valuable goods to me. I would have been given a place of honor and allowed to eat at the table and share rest in the homes of those who sought me out.
Today, I am paid.
If you are interested in learning more, or wish to schedule a reading, visit my website: aurochsreturn.com or give me a call. 415-652-3990.
I do readings in person and over the phone with email follow up.
I also give presentations and teach rune classes.

Anarchy

2009-01-30T21:11:00.000-08:00

Some days, for who knows what reasons, I trouble over words, their meanings, their vibrations, their use/misuse.
So the other day I was spending time with anarchy.
Now the original meaning of the word is lack of or without a leader.
However, the dictionary defines it as a state of society without government or laws, or disorder due to absence of governmental control or lawlessness.
Isn't that interesting how it goes from meaning without a leader to meaning without laws.
Later in the day I met with a new friend in a coffee shop and asked him:
"Do you believe it is possible to have laws without having a leader?"
"Can there be anarchy without lawlessness?"
He said he would have to ponder the questions.
So I asked someone else the following day.
His answer was that we must have leaders or rulers or someone in charge until we reach the 4th dimension. As long as we are in the 3rd dimension it is not possible.
I think we are taught to believe this.
We are taught that humans are intrinsically bad, defective, unruly, out of control, imperfect, sinful, you name it and we just can't make it without someone ruling over us. Sounds like religion to me.
What if we are not bad, evil, defective, sinful? Tell children long enough how bad, stupid, messy, terrible they are and eventually the behavior matches the words. Is it any different with adults?
Anarchy: to propose the cooperative and voluntary association of individuals and groups as the principal mode of organized society.

Hoarfrost and A Harley Rider

2009-01-20T18:30:00.000-08:00

I made it. Almost froze to death. The ride from Redding up over the Siskyous was bright and sunny. Some patches of snow and ice in the shade but overall dry.

Different story when I reached Grants Pass, Oregon. Thick dense fog and freezing cold. Wind chill factor at 65 miles an hour is amazing.

I finally had to stop in Roseburg around 4:00. A very long hot bath.

Didn't leave until almost 11:00, hoping the fog would lift but it didn't.

I had to stop about every 50 miles just to thaw out a bit so I could feel my fingers and toes.

Finally above Eugene the fog lifted but then around Salem I rode into a very strong icy wind blowing in from the Gorge which I fought all the way to Portland.

I must say though that the scenery this time of year is beautiful. Stark, bare trees, numerous birds of prey perched on fence posts, Canadian geese and a pair of otters playing in a field along side a creek. Freezing fog dusts all the landscape white and sparkling in the sunlight. Not quite as trecherous as ice rain.

Looks Like

2009-01-13T23:41:00.000-08:00

I am going down to Redding to get Gretta and ride her home.
Forecast: sunny through the weekend, warm might be stretching it a bit with regards to the temperature. Winter. Dress warm. Lots of layers. Double gloves. Face covered.
Wish me well.
I plan to take the train down from Portland.
It arrives in Redding in the wee hours of the morning, 2:00 am ish.

The Aurochs Return

2009-01-12T20:34:00.000-08:00

And with them comes the ancient wisdom of the Runes.

On Thrusday March 5, 2009 I will be giving a presentation on the runes

and the return of the aurochs.

New Renaissance Bookshop in Portland, Oregon.

Come join me.

Happy Birthday Dave

2009-01-11T22:08:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night, for real, snow and ice rain, in Connecticut, 35 years ago, at about 1 minute before midnight. I gave birth to this most amazing new being. Happy Birthday Dave.
Wish we were able to spend it together. Maybe next year. I love you.

Triage

2009-01-11T21:52:00.000-08:00

Triage

noun

1. the action of sorting according to quality.

2. (in medical use) the assignment of degrees of urgency to wounds or illnesses to decide the order of treatment of a large number of patients or casualties.

verb [ trans. ]

assign degrees of urgency to (wounded or ill patients).

ORIGIN early 18th cent: from French, from trier 'separate out.'

Should you find yourself in a hospital emergency room, you will truly have a change to understand as well as appreciate the meaning of this word.

The Virgin Mary Has Inspired Some The World's Most Beautiful Architecture

2009-01-11T21:03:00.000-08:00

some of the most moving poetry, magnificent art, and angelic music. In Portland, Oregon she has inspired the creation of The Sanctuary Of Our Sorrowful Mother administered by the Order of Friar Servants of Mary. Today I wandered in The Grotto. I will return, next time, notebook in hand and use the power of solitude, peace and prayer to write.

Woman Harley Rider Requests Clear Skies And A Bit Warmer Weather

2009-01-03T21:25:00.000-08:00

I know it is winter but all I need are a couple of days of clear skies and warmer weather so I can get down to Redding from Portland, fly, drive, take the train? so I can fetch Gretta and ride her home because home is where I am at any given moment and right now I find myself home in Portland and missing my ride.

Morpheus

2009-01-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

One cannot speak the English language without calling forth or calling upon the gods.
Meander
Saturday
Abundance
Weird
Morphine
Oh that we should all have studied mythology, Greek, Roman, Norse . . .
Oh that we should all have studied Latin, to know the root, the origin of so many of our words.
Hillman speaks of the angelology of words. Grander yet is to speak of the gods of words.
I just spent a long evening (and into the night) at the emergency room of a Portland hospital with someone who was in extreme pain.
And the god Morpheus was called forth, the son of Sleep, the god of dreams. The name signifies the fashioner or moulder, because he shapes or forms the dreams which appear to the sleeper. (Ov. Met. xi. 635.)
It appears that Morpheus was never worshiped, but au contraire, he is worshiped now by those who call upon him for the peace and ease he brings in morphine.

The Arbitrary New Year

2009-01-01T10:05:00.000-08:00

Circle of Runes

Rune Circle

The Runes danced in my room all night together with the money candle burning in honor of the dragon. The flame flickered and the shadows on the wall kept me awake till the wee hours of the morn as the rain tapped outside wanting to introduce herself to the mists inside. So the mess got even messier and they were all glad when I finally awoke at 9:00 as they were worried I had overslept but I assured them this was the time the Book would be finished.

Women Who Ride Harleys Don't Ride In The Snow

2008-12-23T19:31:00.001-08:00

I have moved to Portland, Oregon.
It is snowing.
It is raining ice.
I had to leave Gretta in California.
She is safe in Sylvia's garage.
I will go down to fetch her when the sun shines.
I will ride her home.

My Mother

2008-12-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

They had been together since she was a teenager.
They went to bed together.
Got up together in the morning.
She was taken to the hospital yesterday.
She is experiencing blackouts.
I believe she keeps falling into the hole where he no longer is.

The Death of My Father

2008-12-23T19:11:00.000-08:00

I have been troubling about whether or not I miss him.
What I have come to realize is that all I must do is change the shape of the container I have kept him in.

Fay Kincaid

2008-11-08T15:41:00.001-08:00

He didn't have a middle name, just Fay.
He always wore a Stetson.
He taught me how to drive and gave me away at my wedding.
He loved my mother unconditionally even when they argued.
He served in the army, bootlegged whiskey and couldn't carry a tune but he sang to us anyway.
He dropped out of school while still young, couldn't spell his way out of a paper bag, had trouble pronouncing big words but he knew how to say "I love you" and "I'm sorry".
He was a master carpenter and if you worked on his job sites you didn't swear, you always wore boots and you never drank while working.
And he could navigate the rutted dirt roads of the northern California forests like a seasoned cab driver in New York City.
He never did understand why I left the religion, or why I had tattoos.
But the last time I saw him he reminded me to ride safe and be careful. He always worried when I rode my motorcycle and that's how I knew he still loved me.

His granddaughter wrote a lovely tribute to him. You can read it on her blog: Naomi St. Clare.

In Honor Of My Father - He was always happiest being in the woods hunting

2008-11-08T15:31:00.000-08:00

Remembering My Future

Hot like summer
Like years ago
In Redding
Dad and I went swimming
The shape of his pacemaker
Visible
A silver dollar
A gamble
Just beneath the puckered skin
Just below the left collarbone
I remember his strong carpenter muscles
Tanned arms
I beat him in a foot race
Once when I was ten
And a half
I think
Before the surgery left a railroad track
Right up the middle
We stayed close in the pool
So he could hear me
Treading water
We planned a trip he’d like to take this August
We planted a garden

Ingrid Kincaid

Women Who Ride Harleys - It Pays To Shop Around

2008-10-30T18:33:00.000-07:00

I am on the road with Gretta and she needs to be serviced. She's at 30,000 miles and needs a new front tire as well.
I called 5 different dealerships all within about a 35 miles radius of Canyon Country, CA just northeast of LA and I found, once again, that there can be as much as a $125-$150 difference in the price quote for the same service, same bike.
Jen Bastanchury, Service Advisor at Antelope Valley Harley-Davidson, was great to work with, friendly, helpful and efficient.
Gretta is happy, I feel better with the new tire, especially since there is a pretty good chance I will encounter some rain on my way back north to Redding.

Women Who Ride Harleys - It's A Long Way To LA

2008-10-30T17:36:00.000-07:00

I am on the road again. And there are times I question if the fun of the ride outweighs the stress. It is a challenge to pack for a long trip, not knowing what the weather might be like and not sure just how long I will be gone. I left Redding last Thursday and cut across the top of Clear Lake on Highway 20 which connects Interstate 5 and Highway 101, passing through towns with European names like Lucerne and Nice. I slowly made my way down to Los Angeles and now am debating when to ride home as it is storming.

This is a great time of year though for a road trip. I passed fields where the air was pungent with the smell of freshly harvested garlic bulbs, and between vineyards turning red and gold, heady with the fragrance of the crush.

I rode through the thick drizzle of coastal fog,
and the heat of the Los Angeles basin, unusually warm for late October. Had lunch with some friends at a great little place on Culver Blvd. BISTRO DE L'HERMITAGE.

This morning I took Gretta up to Lancaster to have her 30,000 mile service and on the way, sun just coming up over the desert hills, I could see rain clouds and more than that, I could smell the rain.

Waiting For The Sun To Rise

2008-10-18T21:54:00.000-07:00

My life is blessed with the gift of having a totally private rear garden that faces east and most mornings I sit outside with my coffee and my journal and wait and watch for the sun to come up. Just because it rose yesterday one must not assume it will rise again today. One can never be sure and as I sit patiently in the quiet hours waiting I can understand the fear and awe of my ancestors who knew in a visceral way that their lives depended on the sun's return and thus they offered up sacrifices to the gods.

Most mornings it is hushed and still, only the occasional sound of a car, sometimes the rumble and whine of the train high up on the trestle that crosses the river. As the sky begins to blush there is a moment when even the birds are quiet. Then a slight breeze begins to gently move the leaves and just as the sun peaks above the horizon it sends forth a ray of light that ignites the leaves of the liquid amber tree and causes the brown grasses on the hillside to glow.

I Didn't Tell The Dragon About The Harley

2008-10-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

Dragon at the Renaissance Faire

2008-10-04T23:14:00.000-07:00

So sorry for the blur but it was raining.

He is a wee bit elderly and awkward, slow with a bit of rust, hence he must be slightly assisted in getting around. "I may be old but you can't fool me," he said with a mist of dragon's breath, "I'd recognize those two anywhere. Cousins of mine, you see, distant cousins, but family none the less." Even in the rain his sharp eye had caught sight of the dragons tattooed on my hands.

He breathed some fire, declaring loudly to all who would hear, that it was not to boast but rather to keep things dried out some since the rain tends to encourage the rust.

When I showed him the pair of dragons that lay inked over my shoulders and across my back he just shook his head. "Must be from up north I dare say, perhaps even as far away as the land of the midnight sun. No kin of mine but you might ask over at the Viking tent if anyone knows the likes of them."

Gentle Autumn Rain

2008-10-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

The air is stale. The vegetation is still dusty with ash from the many fires that burned this summer. And today I could smell it coming, the dark gathering clouds, the slight breeze and off in the distance up against the mountains the vertical mist interspersed with shafts of sunlight as if the gods were coming down to earth and they were in fact coming down in the form of gentle rain. The smell of wet earth reminds me of my childhood and a dirt driveway that led up to the farm house on the ranch and the small rocks I used to put in my mouth because they tasted like the smell of gentle autumn rain.

The Great Horned Owl Has Blessed Me With His Presence

2008-10-01T23:53:00.000-07:00

There is just the smallest sliver of the moon tonight and the garden is quiet and a bit chilly. I decided to sit outside and enjoy the silence. Then, for the first time since moving into this house, I heard the call of an owl, close by in the tall pines. I waited, as he did, and we were rewarded with the answer of a female. Great horned owls begin to call to each other in the early fall and choose a mate by December. We had many devastating fires this summer so it is a good sign to hear the birds and see wild life.

Owl is tattooed on my right forearm. He comes to me from the dark with hidden wisdom and knowing. He who is of the gods.

Women Who Ride Harleys - Over The Golden Gate

2008-10-01T23:39:00.000-07:00

Just for the record, I don't ride a motorcycle because of the gas prices. I ride because I love it and because I can. It makes me smile when a guy in a truck passes me on the freeway and gives me a 'thumbs up' or women in their cars wave or even when the small, older Asian man at the gas pump said, "You must be very strong to do that."
I just taught a weekend workshop in San Mateo, south of San Francisco.
Beliefs and Values - An Exploration http://www.ingridkincaid.com/
I rode Gretta down. It is always a challenge to figure out how to pack everything on the bike. I think next time I will send the class materials on ahead by FedEx.
From Redding to San Mateo takes me about 5 hours. I like to cut across on #37 from I-5 to #101 so I can ride across the Golden Gate. Nothing is more spectacular than that first glimpse coming down the grade. Sometimes there is fog, especially in summer and almost always there is a special golden glow like a visitation from the gods. And the smell of the ocean and eucalyptus trees. I love it.

Immigrate and The Angelology of Words

2008-09-07T11:24:00.000-07:00

Immigrate: the coming into the new country

Emigrate: the leaving of a country

So the question might be, are you coming or going?

How do you see yourself? How do others see you?

Migrate

1. to move from one place to another, to change

2. to move from one region to another with the change of seasons

Many who leave their homes for lands unknown do so because 'to everything there is a season.'

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill and a time to heal ...a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance ...a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to lose and a time to seek; a time to rend and a time to sew; a time to keep silent and a time to speak; a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

For many, the word immigrate is more than a dictionary definition. As James Hillman says, ''Words, like angels, are powers which have invisible power over us. They are personal presences which have whole mythologies . . . this aspect of the word transcends their nominalistic definitions and contexts and evokes in our souls a universal resonance."

Vasa - A Swedish American Fraternal Organization

2008-09-05T22:02:00.000-07:00

The Vasa Order of America began more than a century ago as a benefit fraternal society for Swedish immigrants to the United States. Membership at the time was limited to Swedish born men who through the Vasa Order met others who needed to learn the new language and ways of the new country. A benefit fund provided a small income to members during sickness, and a death benefit at the time would cover final expenses. The Order is named for Gustav Vasa, who liberated the country in the 16th century and became the first King of modern Sweden. The name of Vasa reflects the Order's roots as a Swedish American Fraternal Organization.

I belong to the VASA Skogen Lodge here in Redding, California. I love the members, many of them old timers, a big majority of them well over 70. Things are pretty antiquated and at times the meetings get bogged down but I love their loyalty and commitment. Most of them find me a novelty when I ride to meetings on the motorcycle. I proudly wear the emblem pin on my vest along with the ride pins, and the mileage pins. I like to imagine my Swedish grandfather being a member of a VASA lodge. He immigrated to America as a young man, married, raised a family, died young without ever going home. I think he would have enjoyed the language, the kinship and the support. His name was Olaf Olson. Here's to you, grandpa Ole, I wish we could have known each other. His daughter, Sigrid, my mother, is still alive. She said they never were allowed to speak Swedish at home. Grandpa wanted them to be Americans. She had never been to Sweden to meet her family. I took her there in 1989. We visited the farm. The house is still there. The family is still there. Now my mom has memories that connect her to her roots.

Wishful Thinking Black and White Cat

2008-09-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

Atop the frog fountain waiting for a gold fish.

Sorry the picture isn't clear. It was taken through the screen door. I was afraid to try to open it for fear I would scare the cat away. She took a leap of faith, landing atop the round, cement-ball fountain, sharing the space with a spouting frog and hanging herself down as far as she could without falling off, she waited motionless, hoping for the chance to catch a fish. Black cat is better at catching mice than black and white cat is at fishing. Sounds like some ancient Chinese proverb.

Night Sky

2008-09-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

Did you step outside tonight to see the moon, lovely one that she is, slim, yet on her way to fullness? She is joined in the night sky by the Summer Triangle, Vega, Deneb and Altair.

Did you leave the flatness of the TV screen and look instead into the vault of the stars? Today the gods pulled the sun across the sky in her chariot and then they all disappeared into the abyss. Do you know where you are? Do you know who you are?

Women Who Ride Harleys - Spiritual Relevance

2008-09-04T00:34:00.001-07:00

I couldn't find anyone to ride with me this Sunday. Maybe good. Maybe bad. So I left Redding early, alone. Decided to ride up Interstate 5 to McCloud with a plan to continue to Burney Falls and then the town of Burney. Then head west back to Redding. The temperature had definitely changed in the last couple of days and as I rode north into the mountains and higher elevations, it began to get quite chilly. Finally at Dunsmir I took an exit off the freeway, stopped and added another layer of clothing, put on my warmer gloves and continued on to McCloud. Dunsmir is about 2300 feet elevation and McCloud is 32oo feet and colder.
This is beautiful country. Majestic mountains. Thick forests. Wildlife abounds. Deer, squirrel, chipmonks, soaring hawks, eagles, buzzards and enormous black crows. And more. This is an area where people cut firewood and haul it in for the winter. It's a place where people begin early in September to prepare for hunting season. They carry guns in their pickup trucks, many of then still smoke and swear. The smell of woodsmoke lingers in the crisp mountain air and people dress in boots and flannel shirts and blue jeans. Yes, there are more and more tourists and people up from the San Francisco Bay area and Los Angeles who buy homes and hope and imagine they will fit in and be satisfied with the slow pace and country ways and cold winters and lack of options. Many of them leave after the second winter. An agent at a local real estate office told me they finally have high speed internet. This might mean some of them will stay longer.
Well, after I had breakfast at the small local cafe, weak coffee and 'sorry we are out of English muffins', I decided to wander a bit in some shops. I noticed that displayed on various tables and hanging on bulletin boards were flyers advertizing some workshop or session with a man dressed in white, long robes wearing a white turbin and looking most definitely like he was not from around these parts. He promised information about higher consciousness, enlightenment, ascension, and other words I did not recognize and thought perhaps were not familiar to the locals either. And I thought that what we need is not a spirituality that takes us away from the amazing life we have right here and right now but rather a spirituality that returns us to the earth, the land, nature and the beauty and perfection of this place we call home.

Pipe Smoking

2008-09-03T22:14:00.001-07:00

"Pipe smoking contributes to a somewhat calm and objective judgement in all human affairs."

Albert Einstein

Around 9:00 in the evening it gets cool enough here in Redding to shut of the air conditioner and open up the house, the doors, the windows, the garage. Some evenings there is a bit of a breeze. Some evenings there isn't. It's usually quiet. I can hear the crickets, the gurgle of the fountain and occasionally the whistle, whine and rumble of a train as it moves along the trestle that crosses high above the Sacramento River. As I sit and enjoy the ending of another day, often sipping some Scotch, the sweet honey fragrance of pipe smoke finds its way over the fence and into the back yard and in through the sliding glass door. I savor it, reminded of times in the past when smoking was a pleasure that did not need to be hidden or done secretly out of doors, a pleasure, as Einstein said, that contributed in a unique way to the affairs of life. I don't know the pipe smoker.

The Black Cat

2008-09-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

Cat resting the day after mouse play.

This amazing, young black cat has taken a liking to me, read familiar, and visits daily. The other morning I was honored by her gift of a limp, dead mouse. She alerted me to her conquest by meowing loudly from across the yard, which did get my attention and when I walked over to see what she had, she proudly uncovered the mouse. After much praise and petting, I returned to my writing and she proceeded to play. She rolled all over the mouse, licked it, nudged it, batted it around and alternated that with tossing it in the air, about 4 feet and jumping up to catch it. This pure pleasure of play continued for about 30 minutes. Then black cat decided it was done. She gathered up the mouse in her mouth, tail dangling out one side and head out the other and proceeded to walk past me on her way to who knows where. There may be a connection with what she did with the mouse and the fact she had to eat grass the next morning and vomit, in close proximity to where I sat. I do believe she was at play in the field of the lord. And quite possibly there is a connection between black cat and my new great grand puppy, shown below, who is also black. You decide.

So new his eyes are still closed.

James Hillman on Transportation & Tasteless Food

2008-08-23T14:02:00.000-07:00

"Cities conceived as centers--rather than as named places, personalities, embedded in physical earth--influence even our eating habits . . . The loss of regional embeddedness makes us forget that cities rise from the earth, from land with local produce. Map thinking favors long-haul trucking, neglecting what belongs right here at hand. Instead, food from a thousand miles, unrelated to season and locality-and taste."

"Psychological Fantasies in Transportation Problems"

James Hillman, Artist of Psychology

Women Who Ride Harleys - Bad Food On The Road/Bad Food In America

2008-08-22T23:15:00.000-07:00

Something is deeply, sadly wrong with the food in America. We have an abundance but the question is an abundance of what. I stopped at a small cafe on my ride the other day. Small town, rural America. Breakfast. An opportunity for a feast. But the contrary. Thin, weak coffee that is little more than colored water made from pre-measured pouches of poor-quality, stale beans with no flavor or aroma. Even the so-called half and half seemed diluted. Add to the insult, pale, watery eggs from stressed hens who never touch the ground or see natural daylight. Even the shells on these eggs are thin. The chickens are forced to lay too quickly.
Powered black pepper that has lost its zest. Salt that is only a pure white chemical. And then, artificially flavored and colored bacon that is laced with nitrates and nitrites. Oh, and not to leave out the pancakes. Lifeless white flour with fake vitamins added to enrich it, too much baking powder which leaves a strange sensation in your mouth, topped with hydrogenated vegetable fat that is colored and flavored and claimed to be more healthy for you than real butter and last but not least, brown sugar water professing to be 'old fashioned syrup with maple flavoring.
This is not an exception. This is what you are served in typical American restaurants and cafes all across the country. Pretty predictable and pretty pathetic. When was the last time you had a good cup of coffee made from freshly ground beans that still had aroma? When was the last time you ate an egg that had a yolk so bright it hurt your eyes, or real maple syrup, or real deal butter? What about pancakes made from scratch with whole grain flour and maybe even a sourdough starter. Or bacon that has been really smoked and is thick and flavorful, a perfect food fit for the gods. We are a country of people who are obsessed with artificial sweeteners, fake butter and fat-free half and half. Tell me, what the heck is that? And we are a nation of obesity and a multi-million dollar diet industry.

The ride however was grand and glorious. I particularly enjoy a section just outside of Chester, California. It is called Childs Meadow on Highways 36 and 89. My sister and I rode horses there one summer long ago when our kids were young and our parents were also.
Maybe food was better then, I don't know.

Women Who Ride Harleys - Historic Oakland, Oregon

2008-08-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

I loaded up Gretta again yesterday morning, it always seems harder packing for the return home. I had been on the road since Saturday July 26 when I left Redding and rode over to Reno and then up to Vancouver, Washington. It was time to head home. I had an offer to spend the night at a beach house owned by my friend Kathleen but decided not to take the detour over to the coast as it would add about 150 miles to my trip home. The weather was good, I was well rested so I decided to ride all the way, about 450 miles from Vancouver to Redding.

As late afternoon approached, I needed to stop to eat and was certain I didn't want the usual food one finds along the freeway. I swear it all tastes the same and they all buy from the same source. What happened to seasonal, fresh food cooked and served in interesting ways that tastes like something?

About 30 miles north of Roseburg, Oregon, heading south on I-5, I saw a sign that said Tolly's Restaurant, in downtown historic Oakland, breakfast, lunch and dinner. So I took the exit.

Good choice.

A charming peek into the past.

Brick buildings from the 1890's, antique stores, curio shops, a glimpse of history and a great eating experience.

I was personally greeted by the general manager, Timothy Mitchell, who welcomed me and showed me to a small table in the back. Road weary and stiff, I sank gratefully into the high-backed, wing chair, which was comfortable enough for a nap. The music took me back to another time, the atmosphere was warm and friendly and the food delicious. I even treated myself to an old fashioned ice cream soda made by my waitress at the marble topped soda fountain.

The building dates from 1893 and was originally a general mercantile store and the full service bar which is connected was once a pharmacy.

Oh, and by the way, the building next door is for sale, another vintage brick building from the late 1800's. It was formerly a bank, 5100 square feet, beautifully restored, the asking price $630,000. When I asked Timothy what he would like to see go in next dorr, he quickly said, "A B & B. It would be great and there is no place in town to stay."

So there you have it. As some of you know, I am a licensed real estate broker and I would love to help you buy this grand piece of history. Just give me a call.

415-652-3990

Women Who Ride Harleys - Bridge of the Gods/Bridge of the Devil

2008-08-12T18:28:00.001-07:00

This is the amazing Columbia River Gorge at a place called White Salmon. The day I rode out to Bingen to visit my friends at the Solstice Cafe I was intrigued by Bridge of the Gods, a bridge that crosses the gorge west of Bingen. I did a bit of research on the story of the name and at the same time connected it with a favorite place of mine, The Devil's Bridge which crosses the Serchio River near the town of Borgo a Mozzano in Italy.
Today, to cross the Bridge of the Gods, one must pay a toll, a monetary one to be exact.
In ancient times, the toll demanded to cross the Devil's Bridge was the soul of the first person to cross after its completion. This was the price the master builder agreed to pay for the Devil's help in completing the bridge.

As you can see from the two pictures below, the two bridges are quite different. The Devil's Bridge is a remarkable example of medieval engineering, built in 1100 and renovated around 1300. This bridge was actually described in a 14th century novel by Giovanni Sercambi. The modern day Bridge of the Gods is a cantilevered bridge, the third oldest bridge over the Columbia River and it was built in 1926.

As you many of you know, I love to travel, and I love learning the stories of the places I visit. According to the stories of the Native Americans living on the Columbia River, Great Spirit built a bridge of stone so the people of the Columbia could cross back and forth with ease. Scientists say it was a great landslide that built the bridge. Legand says it was a rivalry between two sons of the Great Spirit, Klickitat (Mt. Adams) and Wyeast (Mt. Hood) that caused the destruction of this bridge. They were both in love with beautiful Squaw Mountain. They argued, growled, stomped their feet, spat ashes and belched great clouds of black smoke, all the while hurling white-hot rocks which set the forest on fire. All this stomping and hurling and spitting caused the earth to shake and the bridge collapsed into the water.
The modern day bridge was built by Wauna Toll Bridge Company and it bears the same name but doesn't have such a romantic story.
The Devil didn't get to collect his toll on the bridge crossing the Serchio. He was tricked by the builder who sent a pig across. The Devil was furious, guess he didn't want the soul of a pig, so he threw himself into the river.
I have walked over the Devil's Bridge.
I have ridden across Bridge of the Gods.

Women Who Ride Harleys - Solstice Wood Fire Cafe in the Columbia River Gorge

2008-08-05T12:57:00.000-07:00

Sixty miles east of Vancouver, on Highway 14 is the sweet little town of Bingen, named after the German city of Bingen-on-the-Rhine. The locals have their own way of pronouncing it, quite unlike the German.

The highlight of Bingen, apart from its spectacular location on the Columbia River, is the Solstice Wood Fire Cafe. Founded by husband-and-wife team Suzanne Wright Baumhackl and Aaron Baumhackl, Solstice is designed to be a warm and welcoming every day community gathering place complete with private meeting space, outdoor patio seating and art by local artists. Little ones are invited to enjoy the children’s play area, HUGE chalkboard wall and kid-friendly menu where all items are priced under $4. Solstice welcomes private parties, special events and offers scrumptuous catering and lunch boxes. Open every day starting at 11:00 for lunch & dinner!

I rode out yesterday to meet Suzanne, one of the owners, and her sister Jennifer for lunch. An added treat was my chance to see again their mother Judy who is visiting from the East coast. My connection with the family goes back several years to when I first met Jen in Italy. She has since married a delightful Italian man, had two sons and moved to Bingen to be closer to her sister and her husband.

What to eat? I highly recommend the proscuitto pizza with fresh arugula, mascapone and local, in season blueberries. And a beer on tap. Oh, and I almost forgot, the flourless chocolate cake with raspberry sauce and ice cream if you dare. The menu changes with the seasons so I can't guarantee the above mentioned pizza but rest assured there will be something equally delicious on the board when you visit.

It is a delight to see children happy and welcome at the cafe. Jen's two sons enjoy playing and chattering with their cousin, Jenner, Suzanne's son. And everyone is anxiously awaiting the birth of Suzanne's next little one, any day now.

The cafe is also pet friendly with bowls of fresh water provided in the outdoor seating area.
I was not the only Harley rider who visited yesterday. It seems it is a popular place for riders to stop for a bite and a pint.

Women Who Ride Harleys - Alone On The Road

2008-08-05T11:47:00.000-07:00

Field of baled hay in Modoc County
View of Mt. Shasta from Surprise Valley

Abandoned house in Modoc County, northern California

I left Reno on Monday morning July 28 backtracking on Highway #395 to Susanville. More dragonflies and the heady perfume of sun-warmed sage brush. At Susanville I turned north on #139 toward Adin and Canby. This is high desert country, barren in most places and brown this time of year.

Several years ago while driving this stretch of road I saw god! Yes, I must admit he was in the form of a healthy, young male coyote who came trotting along across the desert and as I slowed realizing he had every intention of crossing the road in front of me, he stopped and turned his head and stared. And I stopped and stared back. We recognized each other. I looked for him again this time but saw only his shadow.

I rode almost an hour heading north from Susanville and saw no other vehicles on the road.

Highway #395 takes you up past Eagle Lake, the second largest natural lake in California.

I rode to Adin and decided not to get gas, thinking I could fuel up in Canby. Bad idea. The gas pumps in Canby are no longer in service, so I turned and rode toward Tule Lake hoping to find gas there. From Tule Lake I cut across toward Keno, passing by Lake of the Woods, Oregon and then made a quick decision to follow the sign that said Ashland which had me turning left onto Dead Indian Memorial Road. Absolutely beautiful ride, lots of twists and turns, lots of gravel on the road and deer. And I thought about the fact that no one at that moment knew where I was except for me and perhaps coyote. I made it to Ashland by early evening only to discover I had forgotten to bring the key to my friends house, the one she usually keeps hidden for me but wasn't hidden because the last time I had visited I had taken it with me. Mistake. Fortunately, I didn't need to wait long.

Women Who Ride Harleys - It Is Not A Fashion Show

2008-08-05T10:58:00.000-07:00

I checked the tires and the fuel, waved good-bye and headed east on Highway 44. Saturday July 26. At Old Station near Lassen Volcanic National Park I turned toward Susanville. Old Station, which is also known as Hat Creek Station, was a stage coach stop in the mid 1800's on the way from Sacramento to Yreka. Today it has a small store, gas pumps and a restaurant.
As a young girl I loved hearing my grandmother tell stories of how she and her family stood on the veranda of their farm house in Cayton Valley and watched the eruption of Mt. Lassen. To this day, this area of California holds a special place in my heart. Riding over mountain passes of over 5000 feet I wished at times I had my heavy leather jacket on instead of my vest and cotton shirt. Extreme contrast between the chill in the mountains and the over 100 degree heat of Redding.

On the stretch of Highway 44 between Old Station and Susanville I rode through a migrating swarm of butterflies which lasted for about 25 miles and without going into too many details, let me just say that I was covered in smashed butterfly stuff! My goggles and windscreen were covered. My gloves, chaps, boots a mess. I had to stop in Susanville and hose myself down and do a good scrub job on Greta. We were joined by all the other motorcycles/trucks/cars/vans that had passed through the same thing.

From Susanville I continued southeast on Highway #395 toward Reno, the biggest little city in the world. After the episode with the butterflies, the attack of the dragonflies was easy. They don't tend to smash but rather feel like you are being hit by a torpedo. And finally, just about 30 miles out of Reno, I saw blue sky. Wasn't quite sure what it was after the 3+ weeks of smoke in the Redding area.

As I pulled up into the valet area at the Nugget Towers in Sparks I was greeted by an efficient young man who was quick to inform me that I couldn't park there. To which I said, I'm not. I'm just here to unload. I was a sight! Dry lips, strange patterns of sunburn and smeared butterfly goop plus a couple of dragonflies lodged in unlikely places. Women who ride. It is not a fashion show.

Women and Harleys

2008-07-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

Leaving early to beat the heat but impossible to escape the smoke that is hanging thick in the air. Highway #299 heading east from Redding toward Alturas. As we begin to climb into the mountains there is more and more evidence of lightning strikes along both sides of the road. Turkey buzzards circling overhead, others gathered in groups in burned out trees. This stretch of road has lots to offer. Small towns, Ingot, Round Mountain, Montgomery Creek. Past Hillcrest which is the turn off to Big Bend.

Years ago, before I was old enough to go to school, my family lived in a small cabin in Big Bend, with no running hot water and an outdoor toilet and during the winter my Dad would go out on the highway dressed all warm and with heavy boots and he would offer to put chains on people's vehicles when it was snowing. That way they could stay warm and dry. He charged 50 cents.

I smile and nod as I pass. My Mom didn't ride motorcycles.

Burney, Fall River Mills, past the museum filled with relics and stories of the Bosworth family that settled in these parts more than 100 years ago. Past the little cemetery that overlooks a valley where many of my mother's relatives are buried.

Nubieber, Bieber, great open pastures in Big Valley, empty houses boarded up, poverty, apathy. Adin. Hanging baskets of colorful flowers line the street. An old man watering them. Two young women making their way east, two horses, two loaded pack mules. Spindle-legged colts, white-faced calves, a great blue heron takes flight, startled by our Harleys. All three of us turned our heads in unison. What at first seemed to be a herd of cattle proved to be buffalo slowly moving toward the cottonwoods down along the creek. An old memory surfaced.

Long waits in between logging trucks and pickups, engines off. Road crews, hot and orange. Thumbs up and waves to women who ride. Gray hair and black leather.
You know you are gaining on a logging truck. Bark and wood chips litter the road. The sweet smell of cut lumber as you pass the mill.
We missed the Black Bear Diner on the main street in Alturas. We were looking for an open sign. It had closed, gone out of business, so said the clean cut, handsome policeman who was standing beside his truck, smoking.
The locals didn't seem to miss it. We joined them at the Wagon Wheel.

News of new fires burning in Modoc county. Smoke was in Big Valley on the way back home. More buzzards, deer grazing in shoulder high pasture. Back to the oppresive heat of Redding in July. 320 miles. Some sun burn. Some wind burn. A long way to ride for lunch.
P. lost her motorcycle-riding husband several years ago to a driver fumbling for her lipstick. C. lost hers to a fast-moving illness. I left mine so I could breathe.
Women who ride Harleys.

The Fire Gods Demanded Sacrifice

2008-07-21T17:41:00.000-07:00

The fire gods have demanded a sacrifice and 'those who cannot be ignorned' have blazed forth here in northern California for these last several weeks, consuming most of what was in their path. And we who sat around the altar were wise to use our smudge fans to acknowledge the clearing away of that which was being offered up.
What other gods or goddesses do we imagine we can wage war against and win?

Do we try to stop the wind from blowing?
The ice from forming?
The snow from melting?
The hurricane, the volcano?
All waters eventually flow to the ocean and she refuses no river. Who are we to interfere by building dams and levees?
Do we imagine we can plant lawns in the desert and build houses in the flood plain, live in the midst of the forest and not experience contact and connection with the gods?
Mandatory evacuation. What would you take with you? What are you unwilling to offer up?

Fire Is A Force Beyond Our Control

2008-07-09T11:00:00.000-07:00

"The more money we spend, the worse it gets. If that's not a condemnation of our fire policies, I don't know what is."

Fire scientist quoted in a recent National Geographic article.

When we interfere with nature over and over again by stamping out small fires we should not be surprised when, with the right conditions, fire comes back with a vengence, hotter, bigger, more destructive. And no matter how much money we spend, how big the army of soldiers, fire is unstoppable. Fire always returns.

Life is a cycle. We have years of rain and years of drought. We have clear blue skies and we have thunder storms with lightening strikes. We have fires.

The American approach to wildfire is to supress it, banish it, fight against it. Fire is not an enemy, it is a god. Perhaps we can take a lesson from the ancients who lived with that knowing and look for ways to create relationship instead of battle.

California Wild Fire Summer

2008-06-23T19:32:00.001-07:00

An unprecedented lightning storm in California with 5,000 to 6,000 lightning strikes is believed to have caused more than 25 wildfires which are actively burning across more than 92,000 acres in northern California.

There is a strange glow in the sky; it is as if the air is on fire. The sun is a golden orb and visibility is limited. Ash from the fires is drifting down, dusting my car. It is a time to stay inside especially if you have any trouble breathing. Summer temperatures of near 100 degrees add to the difficulty.

Perhaps we can call in the storm gods again but only those of rain.

Magic Wands and Staffs & The Storm Gods

2008-06-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

For those of you who missed the class on Saturday June 21, you missed some pretty powerful magic.

We gathered with the intention of making wands, staffs and talking sticks and each individual brought a special piece of wood, each with a story, some of them with pieces they had found many years ago and had kept even though they weren’t sure why. And now it was evident.

I spoke briefly about the history of wands and staffs, mentioned examples from Egyptian art and Moses in the Bible parting the Red Sea, as well as the Sceptre with a Cross which boasts the 530 carat diamond called the Great Star of Africa. This sceptre is part of the Royal Regalia or Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom.

As we prepared ourselves to begin, sorting through feathers, sinew, bits of bone, stone, leather and fur, the storm gods began to gather and for the rest of the day we were privileged to join the gods and goddesses of thunder, lightening, wind storm, hail and rain in the making of magic and the channeling of the energy and power of nature.

Each participant left with an amazing creation and a greater understanding of how they individually connect and interact with life.

Writers on Writing

2008-06-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

I have been anxious, troubled these last few days because I have done a great deal of sitting outside, drinking coffee, drinking water, drinking Scotch and watching birds and dry grass and bugs and blue sky. A dear friend of mine who is a writer came to visit and I spoke to her of my concerns. She reminded me that writing is work and that when I am writing I am working. But the trouble is/was, I wasn't doing much writing.

So I sought the words of other writers on writing.

"It is not always easy to tell the difference between thinking and looking out of the window."
Wallace Stevens 1879-1955
Major American Modernist poet

"The work comes out of all the time a writer wastes. We stand around, look out the window, walk down the hall, come back to the page . . ."
Don DeLillo 1936-
American author

"The tortoise determines the pace. We are borne on its back. Exploring as slow thinking, and thinking as slower writing: the old ones are connoisseurs of lost threads and down time, because we can't keep up with usual thought."
James Hillman
Psychologist, scholar, author

Thank you all.
I am getting old and wasting time and writing.

Red Barn Summers

2008-06-19T20:42:00.000-07:00

Hot summer days were skinned knees and mosquito bites, lots of frogs and loud crickets and the funny musty smell of my aunt and uncle's house which was a combination of swamp cooler and old cigarette smoke.
Hot summer days were fields flooded by irrigation water from the canal that ran along the east side of my grandmother's ranch and fresh mown hay and warnings to stay out of the pasture if the white Brahman bull was anywhere to be seen.
We picked fruit from the trees, berries in the garden and made homemade ice cream, taking turns with the crank, adding salt to make the ice melt faster and quickly spooning up and eating anything that overflowed.
Summer was Grandma's fish pond with gold fish and a weeping willow tree whose branches grew all the way down to the ground so we could hide inside and not be seen.
But most of all summer was the huge red barn with the milking stalls and the hayloft and the spooky feeling you got from the dust floating in the beams of sunlight that shone through the cracks and the spider webs and the occasional owl sounds. The barn was always dark and cool and smelled of cows and alfalfa pellets, oats and hay. And there was always some thin mother cat that just give birth to a litter of kittens with closed eyes.
Grandpa Olson was a Swedish immigrant and he and Grandma built the barn before they built the house. It was their livelihood. My mother remembers living in a small two-room structure with her 3 brothers while the barn was being built. That little structure later became the wash house. My mother also remembers red barn summers, perhaps a lot like mine, perhaps less carefree.
I always called it Grandma's barn because I never knew my Grandpa. He was gored by a bull in the corral in front of the huge red barn, before his sixtieth birthday, before he made the trip back home to Sweden, before I was born. He died.
Grandma kept the ranch. It was sold after her death and divided up into lots for tract houses but the city of Redding deemed the huge red barn a historical building and it is still there, visible to anyone who drives along South Bonnyview Road. You can see it close up to the fence, guarded by ancient oaks trees. The fields and pastures have been replaced with cookie cutter houses and front lawns but the barn remains.
I still have red barn summers.

Riding My Dragon

2008-06-14T22:40:00.001-07:00

Gretta, she's the one with the wheels, needed her 25,000 mile tune up. Can you believe it? She and I have ridden together that far in just a little over 3 years. I decided I'd take her up to the Harley Davidson dealership in Oregon just south of Medford, spend a few days with my friend Kathleen and explore some places and opportunities to teach my workshop 'Raking Leaves In The Wind'.
The ride up Interstate 5 from Redding, California, past Mt. Shasta and over the Siskiyou Mountains is beautiful.
It's summer here already and that means temperatures are over 100 degrees and I always struggle with the safety of wearing my leathers and the heat. The leathers almost always win. Somehow riding 70+ miles per hour, sharing the freeway with large simitrailers and SUVs pulling enormous boats begs for protection.
In another life and another time, Gretta and I would have flown up there, up and over and around the snowcapped volcano, high about the fields and forests.
For all you Harley riders, if you ever find yourself near the Medford/Ashland area of Oregon, be sure to stop into D&S Harley Davidson. It's a family owned, full-service dealership that treats you right.

Segue Into Segway

2008-05-12T13:33:00.000-07:00

Segue - to transition smoothly from one state to another

Segway - a zero emissions transport that uses dynamic stabilization, takes up minimul space, can be used on sidewalks and pathways and turns you into an empowered pedestrian who can move more quickly, carrry more and go farther. It was invented by Dean Kamen and unveiled in December 2001

Who knew? Where have I been? I had never seen one nor had I even heard of it.

After a flurry of words about flying from Los Angeles International Airport to Redding, California in a propeller plane (is it 2008), my youngest son informed me and his sister that we were going to rent Segways on Mother's Day and we were going to have a blast, no 'ifs, 'ands' or 'buts'.

Shasta Glide 'n Ride in Redding, CA rents these amazing things that look like something out of the Jetsons and make you feel like you have stepped into a futuristic utopia of elaborate robotic contraptions and whimsical inventions.

Five of us gathered in the parking lot at Turtle Bay, and after some instruction and a brief demonstration, we were allowed to practice a bit before taking off on our 2-hour, 5-mile adventure. Up and down hills, over bumps and around corners, we waved at families enjoying picnics, slowed down for small children and dogs, moved over to let cyclists pass. We crossed the famous Sundial Bridge, wound our way along the scenic Sacramento River trail, glided through the McConnell Arboretum and Caldwell Park, stopping on the historic Diestelhorst Bride to stretch our legs and enjoy a view of the river.

Segway PT is a two-wheeled, self-balancing electric vehicle that you stand on. You lean forward to go forward and lean back to go backward. A slight lean on the handlebar will cause it to turn left or right and you get on and off as if you were stepping up or down a stair.

If you have never seen one, go to the website and take a look. If you have never experienced using one, I highly recommend the adventure.

Labyrinth

2008-05-09T20:43:00.000-07:00

I have walked the labyrinth at the great cathedral of Chartres. It was the summer of 1999 at the time of an almost total eclipse of the sun. As I stood in the center with my eyes closed my body began to move ever so slowly, gently, in the form of a figure eight, an infinity sign. There is a sacred well hidden in the depths of the cathedral. Chartres has been a center where the divine feminine has been reverenced since the time of the Druids over 3,000 years ago.

The labyrinth at Chartres consists of a single pathway that winds about, leading in and out from the circumference toward the centre and then back again, until it finally reaches its end. The technical term for such a pattern is unicursal. The popular name is a meander.

It pleases me to know that I have meandered within a labyrinth.

Meandering

2008-05-09T20:11:00.000-07:00

Meander is nature's favorite way of slowing things down. It is a way to calm the spirit. Following a meandering path can be a way to resolve a problem or come to a decision. Activities that are slow and/or circular such as weaving, knitting, doodling are all forms of meandering.

To meander, I must truly be alone, wandering. My time spent alone is not frivolous, nor is it a luxury. It is a creative necessity, the lack of which impoverishes my life.

Meander was a Greek river god whose father was Oceanus and whose mother was Tethys. A river in present day Turkey whose bed winds back and forth across the land until it comes to the sea still bears his name. Meander is caused by the combination of erosion and sediment and the slight change in the speed of water as it flows between two banks.

So I am wondering, is it necessary to have sediment and erosion present in my life in order to vary the speeds of my flow?

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell

2008-05-02T18:05:00.000-07:00

A novel by Susanna Clarke. I am having such a delightful time reading and living in this superb, compelling, fantastic book which is so thick and heavy it is not easy to read in bed at night. Besides all that, whenever I am reading it, small green fairies appear in the fold of the pages and they sparkle and dance all around.

I highly recommend it.

"Two magicians shall appear in England. The first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me . . ."

Reader of Runes

2008-04-21T11:14:00.000-07:00

"Once, long ago, what we now call 'mythology' was the sacred guiding vision that informed whole communities on a social, ethical and spiritual existence . . . All cultures pay a heavy price for the loss of any perspective, a different way to interpret the world and the lives of all its creatures." Judith Lindburgh author of 'The Thrall's Tale"

The knowledge and use of runes was part of such a loss. The spread of Christianity to the Nordic countries caused a destruction and disrespect for an ancient way of life and spirituality. As a keeper of the old ways, I mourn this loss. Our Western civilization suffers deep sadness and imbalance due to it, rather like the blindness and narrowing of scope that would occur with the removal of a single color out of the myriad shades of the spectrum. That which has been condemned, maligned, demonized, lost and forgotten, must be returned.

The runes do not wish to hide. They long to be seen and their wisdom shared and used. They seek to be remembered. They came to me in my dreams and asked to be tattooed on my forearms. I am blessed with a gift of being able to 'read' them. I value this gift and use it with reverence.

Silly Mischief

2008-03-03T00:21:00.000-08:00

Old Woman Feeding Imps

Ingrid in the cage, annoyed. I am silly mischief, imp that I was born as, marking my own willingness to risk, taking time to stop, be with myself. I have often given myself away before I am ready. To be a priestess is to be available to the many and yet it must be on my own time. I want to use my aliveness to lay out the bigness of life, to not look through narrow, conditioned eyes. I am a fertile woman on many levels. My aliveness is my craziness. I must remember my mind is not my ally. Fear of demons still arises. My patience is as long as Interstate 80 on an unfolded, cross country map. My efforts at organization are like a fly doing the back stroke in spilled honey. I am gum stuck to your shoe. My marriage was a cracked vase that always leaked. My book shelf is a pantry well stocked for winter. I am a scratch on your favorite record. I am my grandmother's custard pudding. My wild, crazy curly hair is steel wool in an electric storm.

Native Daughter

2008-03-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

I was born in California to a woman who was born in California to a woman who was born in California to a woman who was born in California. That makes me a native daughter to a native daughter to a native daughter to a native daughter.
Just thought I'd let you know.
And California is not just a state, it's a state of mind. In fact, it should perhaps be its own country.
I have lived on the west coast and the east coast and places in between as well as several countries in Europe and the British Isles and I seem to always come home.
As a real estate broker, I've been selling California since 1982.

I am a woman

2008-03-02T23:14:00.000-08:00

I am the endless cycles of the changing seasons, always and never the same. I am the rhythmic breathing of a hibernating grizzly. I am the last spawning salmon trying to swim up a polluted stream. I am the sad hollow of a burned out tree reminding you of careless acts. I am sparkling dew drops in a spider's web after a morning of heavy mist. I am the painted bowl that holds your pomegranates. I am the crying you hear in the distance after we go to war. I am a baby's shallow breath against its mother's empty breast.
I am a hurricane's eye. I am summer's first rain. I am the sky of a North Dakota winter. I am steam rising from thermal ponds. I am ice cream churned by hand. I am bread fresh from the oven. I am the grave stone of an infant. I a field of lavender. You see, I am all that delights and defines life. I stand tall as the ancient redwoods and sequoias. I stand wide as Mother Earth giving birth. I stand for truth and for lies. I stand for heartbeats and heartaches. You see, I am a woman.