It's the busy season

Sand hill cranes on Sauvie Island, photo by Jennifer

Sand hill cranes on Sauvie Island, photo by Jennifer

It's hard to believe that we're more than halfway through October already. Thursday, the 18th, was Ray's birthday; he would have been 80. That feels impossible. He was so energetic and full of life, always looking toward his next adventure. Even as illness overtook him he fought to keep cycling, keep going, keep trying.

I had been dreading the day, but in the end it was not so bad. I bought two slices of his favorite cake at the market, put a candle on one, sang Happy Birthday to him—wherever he is—and ate both pieces of cake. Then I looked through some of the photo books I've made since his death, reliving those good memories. And there are so many! I feel very blessed.

The next family birthday is mine, in 15 days. I would prefer it not to be Election Day, especially this election, but I don't have a choice. It will make me happy if you VOTE and send me a blue tsunami. A week after that is Jennifer's birthday, closely followed by Thanksgiving, then, too soon, Christmas.

Fall has always been a busy time for our family, and a favorite season; beautiful in Oregon. To catch Fall's last gasp (rain sets in this week) Jennifer and I drove out to Sauvie Island yesterday and picked tomatoes at one of the many farms on the island. It was a gorgeous day, mid-70s, clear blue sky, and lots and lots of people shopping for pumpkins and enjoying the food stands and farm animals. I had spent the last two days painting the bathroom, and it was wonderful to be out in the open again, relishing the light breeze and the endless skies. We looked for Sand hill cranes where Jennifer had last seen them, without luck, but the drive and the scenery were soul soothing.

Before long the days will shorten and winter will settle in, a time for reading and knitting, and visiting with friends. I look forward to that cozy period and hope that with the election behind us we can all return to a less frenzied and troubled existence. In the meantime, I'll enjoy what's left of our beautiful Fall, and even, maybe, make a pumpkin pie. 

Anger and angst

Like a lot of women in this country and beyond, I was triggered by the testimony given by Christine Blasey Ford, and not reassured by that of Judge Kavanaugh. Humans tend to put a lot of faith in memory, despite research telling us it is often unreliable. Witness accounts, for instance, vary widely. But as Dr. Ford described, traumatic events are stored in the hippocampus and are always available for recall.

I have previously written that I am not one to dwell on the past or worry much about the future. The past cannot be changed and the future cannot be known. As a result of this tendency I was soon able to put my own attack (similar to Ford’s) out of my mind, and seldom have I given it even a fleeting thought. I certainly didn’t report it and I didn’t tell anyone, not even my husband. Shit happens, and to women and young girls it happens a lot. And then we move on.

Until now. No matter what the outcome of the final confirmation vote, the angst and anger among women will not soon end. It is palpable, it is everywhere, and unlike after the Anita Hill hearings, I don’t think this is going away soon. I am fed up with white male privilege and I ain’t the only one.

Your daily surprise

Zoe woke me early this morning. She bounded onto the bed and immediately started telling tales. "Meow meow meow," said she.

"Go away" I said, rolling over and covering my head. "It's too early."

Zoe wriggled her nose under the covers. "Meow MEOW Meow!"

"There's an elephant in the tree? I don't think so. Go away."


I got up. There was no elephant in the tree, of course. It was a sloth hanging upside down from a slender branch. Only a cat could mistake a sloth for an elephant. The creature opened its eyes, winked at me, and went back to sleep.

None of this surprised me because nothing surprises me lately. Elephants and sloths in Portland trees are nothing compared to what happens daily in this country. (If you don't believe me, visit The List.

But I have to confess that the NYT anonymous editorial almost surprised me. I was certainly shocked, but the content should be no surprise to anyone given what we've all been hearing and reading for almost two years. I was shocked because the writer seemed to believe that he or she is a patriot. 

Much as I abhor Trump and his policies, he is our duly elected president. His staff, however, was not elected (most were not even properly vetted), and I am uncomfortable having unelected persons co-opting the presidential role just because they're in the oval office occasionally. Where might that lead?

Sure, the writer claims that in light of a deeply unfit president s/he is doing what s/he thinks will make us all safer. I accept that argument while reserving my right to sceptcism. I would be more inclined if the writer had boldly signed his or her name, resigned immediately, and marched the copious evidence to Capitol Hill to share it aloud with Congress on live TV. That person would be a patriot. I, on the other hand, would be utterly surprised.



Wave at the ocean

Ocean waves.jpg

I visited old friends last week and since they live near the ocean I got in some beach time. My friends are avid ocean lovers and I carried some of that love with me onto the sand. After marking the spot that would take me back to their house I set off in a northerly direction.

The tide was going out and the still damp, packed sand near the waterline was smooth and dark and easy to walk on. The gray skies reflected in the gray water and the waves themselves looked lazy and relaxed. It's always reassuring to see the ocean again, to hear the surf and know its constancy and to carry that knowledge home.

Few people were about and the repetitive murmur of the ocean only added to the silence. Memories of other beach walks passed through my mind of course, but they weren't unhappy—far from it—and I walked on contented. Here was a slight rise in the sand, a kind of low knoll. Standing atop it I could see farther into the sea and I scanned for boats or whales; neither was seen.

But there was something worth noting. An invisible line marked the water's behavior. On one side the waves turned north, and on the other side they turned south, meeting at a 45 degree angle. I've seen this before of course, it's not unusual. But I had never paid much attention. Now, with no pressure to be anywhere, I stood and watched.

I could discern no reason for this behavior, the beach looked perfectly flat, but the waves continued at cross-purposes. Instead of running up the beach in unison they came from opposite directions, crossing and recrossing, forming ripples and ridges but striving to make progress despite the interference. A little like our political parties I thought, though the waves eventually found their way and did their duty.

As I write today the country is mourning the death of Senator John McCain, a man who loved his country deeply and who deserves our respect even if we disagreed with his politics. What struck me this afternoon was the very bright line separating McCain's life from the president's. The two could not be more dissimilar. Will this bright line expose the choice that now faces us? It's very clear: love of country or utter disregard for country—patriotism or deluded vanity.

We've all worked at cross-purposes at times; it's a human failing. But this week feels like a critical moment for the country. And the choices couldn't be clearer. We must wake up, and like the ocean waves, do our duty.


August slow


August is the laziest month of the year. There's plenty of time to sit in the shade and read a book or simply sit and watch the world go by. Plenty of time to take an evening stroll though the neighborhood, or a long walk by a river. Nothing should be rushed in August.

 Zoé the cat is proof of August's power. Each day as the temperature begins to rise she repairs to the porch and stretches out on the settee. The hotter it gets the better she likes it. Sometimes she hardly moves from 9 to 9.

I have been trying to imitate her, but of course I have to go out and buy food for both of us occasionally, and sometimes other tasks demand my attention. Still, I'm doing pretty well for a human. I started the month lying in a hammock strung between two fir trees, and with the requisite vacation reading I managed to remain prone for days. 

Yesterday I went to the Japanese Garden. It was cool under the trees and the sound of water falling over rock was soothing. I heard many languages, and watched as families and friends posed smiling for photographs. When I got home Zoé hadn't moved, but I felt better for the outing.

I hope you can find time to enjoy some August peace. September and its to-do lists can wait a few weeks longer. And so can the constantly changing panoply of characters in the news. 

It's summer. It's August. Take a break; the world will wait.

Where is your heart?

The world turned upside down this week, so I went looking for relief in books. The novel didn't help, it only revealed again humanity's tendency toward stupidity, so I pulled down a short book of essays and found some solace.

The book that reached out to me—sometimes they do that—was The Heart is a Little to the Left: Essays on Public Morality by William Sloan Coffin  ["Love and hope, cousin Bill"] and I remembered that the first time I read it I was a little disappointed. I think I wanted his fire, and instead found gentle forbearance. Thinking I could use some of that now I sat down and read.

Those old enough may remember Coffin as an outspoken critic of the Vietnam war when he was the chaplain at Yale (where he also organized busloads of Freedom Riders to challenge segregation laws) and later as the senior minister of Riverside Church in New York. He was arrested several times for protesting various injustices and Garry Trudeau's Rev. Sloan, of Doonesbury, was a tip of the hat to him.

Reverend Coffin never stopped speaking forcefully for what he believed and as I read I wondered what he might say were he alive today. Given his history, a good deal I think, and very well. His book is full of lines worthy of quoting:

"Nothing scares me like scared people; for while love seeks the truth, fear seeks safety, the safety so frequently found in dogmatic certainty, in pitiless intolerance."


"Although the academic community is more tolerant than the religious right, it is also more passive, and tolerance and passivity are a lethal combination. It's easy to forget how frequently compassion demands confrontation."


"No nation is well served by delusions of its righteousness. Every nation makes decisions based on self interest and then defends them in the name of morality."


"And for guidance in this task [denuclearization] let us not look overly to our political leaders. Their ethical impulses tend to be so much weaker than their political ones that in order not to stand out they'll do almost anything to fit in."

When our world is upended we need all the help we can get, and some of Coffin's fire and wisdom would be welcome. But I'm pretty sure he would disagree. Life may have tossed us all in a blender this week, but I think the Rev would say that if we listen to—and trust—our left-of-center hearts, we'll be just fine

Le Guin and the way

When I attended a tribute to Ursula Le Guin a few weeks ago I was surprised to learn she had translated Lao Tzu's classic the Tao Te Ching. I promptly bought a copy. Le Guin did not know Chinese, but she worked from a copy belonging to her father, an 1898 edition that contained the Chinese text, a transliteration, and a translation. As she says in her notes, this was like having a Rosetta Stone.

Le Guin started the project in her twenties and worked on it over many years, always adding to her knowledge and eventually connecting with Chinese scholar Dr. J. P. Seaton of the University of North Carolina, who was impressed with her work and shared his expertise. Clearly it was a task driven by determination and will, and love for the text itself.

I can't imagine attempting a translation of a text in a language I did not know, let alone one so easy to misunderstand. So far I like her version very much. It's approachable in a way others I've tried haven't been because, I think, she brings a poet's voice to it. Of course the Tao Te Ching is always difficult—sometimes incomprehensible. But worth the effort.

It's been good to have something to turn to that connects with both mind and soul; it's been a hard week. Reading this morning I thought of the Tao symbol, that circle half-white and half-black, each containing the seed of the other. To the ancient Chinese the dark represented feminine energy and the light masculine, but there are many meanings ascribed to it. I found an image on Google and planted it at the bottom of my computer screen. It reminds me that no matter how dark the world seems, there is always a seed of light within the darkness. We just have to feed it.