Graveyard

On Sunday Alder and I went for a long walk around town. It was hot and sticky out, but then it was hot and sticky in the house as well and at least outside there was a little bit of a breeze. There isn't really too much you can do in town unless the farmer's market is going on. The playground is a little too much of a walk and part of it is on a busy road with no sidewalk. So we headed up to Old Bennington since, well it's there.

Once we were there we ended up checking out the graveyard of the church, the oldest church in the state. It's sort of a pilgrimage spot, Robert Frost is buried there. I'm not a pilgrimage sort of person, at least not to someone's grave. Sure I'd love to see Sonia Delaunay's studio or visit Ghost Ranch, but I think grave visiting is about as inspirational as standing in line at the DMV.

That being said I do love graveyards and graves. Not in a morbid fashion. I just love looking at graves and imagining lives for all the people who lay in them. In college I found the grave of a woman who had died young, 23 or 4, named Isabella some time in the early 1800's I would often go and spend time on her grave imagining her life and sharing mine with her (silently of course). I also have a fascination with those big grave stones that house lots of people and mausoleums, they always feel as though there is some great mystery attached to them.

All this being said this past trip to the graveyard was a nice break from a hot sticky and boring day.

A Smile Needed a Smile Given

Sweet Milk Creek rd
Originally uploaded by Ink Spots

Saturday felt truly like a Sunday, for those of you who don't experience this Sundays are difficult days. I think it comes from a childhood of spending weekends in the Berkshires and having to return to the city on Sundays. I felt as though I was being ripped from my soul (this may have something to do with the fact that I now live forty miles from that house).

Anyway I woke up Saturday and it felt decidedly Sunday-ish. I couldn't shake the feeling and even ended up crying over something small and silly. Basically I was useless, which with the shop opening in a week was not a good thing. Kevin being the sweetheart that he is didn't complain when I told him that I needed to get out of there (or maybe he was happy to be rid of me in my mood). So I drove all the way to Albany, there was some fabric I needed to finish the quilts. On the way to Albany from our house we pass this sign and it always makes me smile. I would love to live on a road called Sweetmilk Creek. As soon as I saw it I started to feel better.

On the way home from the fabric store (yes I go forty minutes for fabric) I stopped at Spillin' the Beans in Troy for coffee and chocolate mousse and a luxurious hour of reading my book. I drifted into Market Block Books I love book stores where when you ask for book advice they take you on a full tour of the shop. I walked out with a copy of The Lace Reader, I can't wait to start it.

By the time I was heading home in that winter afternoon light I felt healed and ready for what is coming.

Have I Mentioned the Crows?

The summer I turned ten I went away to a very special summer camp, there are thousands of stories that I could tell about how that place has had an affect on my life but right now I want to tell you about the crows.

The crows there seemed to like me and scare me. They would follow me to and from the barn early in the morning when I, always late, would walk alone to barn-chores. They would settle near me at what ever activity I was doing during the day. If I ever stopped to pick peas or rhubarb in the garden (yes this was a farm camp, among other things) they would come close to inspect me. All this attention from the crows made me very nervous. I would try my hardest to walk to the barn with other kids, often doing it with my boots untied or in my arms.

As the summer progressed I learned to ignore the crows. Well sort of, I had just became better at getting ready in the morning and I always had someone to walk with after evening barn-chores.

As I grew old the crows just stayed around.

After college I moved to Colorado and the whole way across the country there was always a small murder waiting for me. At the time I was sure they were following, now I rather think they just warned each other of my arrival. After settling in Durango they became much more bold. I would sometimes find them on top of my car after a days work at the ski resort. These were bold crows who frightened me, they would caw as I came down to the parking lot only fly off when I took my keys out.

It was during that first year that the crows began to soften. They would follow me, but occasionally it would be them leading. On my rare days off I would go for hikes, following them, I saw many beautiful places this way. Of course I was still scared of them, but I respected them too. With one boy friend they would crowd the tree by his window waking us up early, he swore they were only ever there when I was.

Finally I met Kevin, someone who I could tell my strange crow story to and rather than laughing he took me seriously. We talked about what the crows could mean or what it was about me that attracted them. During that time I had a frightening dream about a crow that came into my bed and was flapping all over me. I woke in dread but Kevin showed up soon for an early morning breakfast and calmed me. That's when I told him about the crows.



Since then I've used crows like some people use tarot cards or the I Ching. When I'm trying to make a decision I look for them and see what they are doing. I interpret their movements to help me choose. It isn't as though they tell me what to do, that would be nutty, instead they are a way for me make concrete thoughts that were floating in my mind. They still follow me around but it just makes me smirk now.

Flea Market Thoughts

We spent the weekend in New York, a party (over whleming), connecting with an old friend (haven't seen since tenth grade), lots of food. Alder and I went to the flea market Sunday. When I was a kid I would go almost every week, at that point I was into suit jackets and old maps of Portugal and New York. My taste has changed but being there hasn't. I spent $3 on a little cut paper picture of peaches on the branch (will have to wait for picture) it now hangs happily at the bottom of our stairs.

What I love best at the flea market is taking it all in. Even if I'm not interested I end up looking at each booth. My favorite part is inside the cafeteria, the market takes place at a middle school, where all the old jewelry, coin and ephemera dealers are. As I fingered costume jewelry and dressing table mirrors and young orthodox guy haggled with the coin dealer and a Korean mother and daughter browsed the movie paraphernalia. The room smelt like school food and old paper. In the dim lights I felt like I could be fifteen again.

Madeleine L’Engle 1918-2007

I was going to write something different about eggplants and cooking them until they are nothing more than a sweet mass but the eggplants went bad. Then found out that Madelein L'Engle died on Thursday. She has been a writer that I have loved and looked up to for years.

I remember reading Wrinkle in Time on the floor of my summer camp's library. Not the first time but again when I was eighteen and a counselor. It was a rainy day off and there was nothing better to hide away in the library that was only used in the evenings. Over that summer I continued to re-read all of the O'Keefe and Murry family novels (think A Swiftly Tilting Planet or The Arm of a Starfish). It was the summer before college and I fell somewhere between child and adult the books were my escape.

Then a few years later a good friend gave me a copy of And Both Were Young commenting that Flip was me. It was the first time I had read a character that had spoken directly to me as a soul, and one of the few that ever has. I have read this book over and over again lending it out to people who want to understand me better. It probably one of her least known books but it will always be my favorite.

As a writer, and I have been making up stories since I could talk, she has been inspirational because of how she created an entire universe that was so magical and practical at the same time. One that was grounded in our world with a little Einstein, quantum physics, and mythology add to it. Like other loved books I marvel how she was able to write something that felt so personal to me yet was also loved by so many other people who I little in common.

Even now when I am dissuaded on adult fiction I drift back to her books as a respite in good writing. Don't just limit yourself to the children's books her adult ones are also wonderful. If there is a heaven like in the stories I am sure that god has reserved Madeleine's first century or so to discuss the inner workings of her world and the entire creation process.

19 Days 4th Anniversary

We were woken up at five or so by Alder, his favorite early morning game is the bounce and head snuggle and then he's up again off to some other corner of the bed to do it again until he's ready to leave the "island". Four years ago today was our wedding, it was a beautiful misty day the garden had bloomed just for us and the rain stopped only hours before the ceremony.

Four years and two thousand miles away it is a hot dry morning and there are three of us. But what fun we still have. For those people who don't think marriage is for them that's fine but I am a lover of celebration and honoring things that are important. We were married at the bottom of the lawn at the house I spent every summer growing up. My father planted a garden that blooms each year for this day. Now that we are moving out east we plan to spend our anniversaries picnicking in that garden.

At first when thinking about what we would do this year we had fancy dinner and babysitter dreams. But those faded as we realized what we want to celebrate and that didn't fit. Now we have no plans yet- pack a few boxes? Being a family together is what we are celebrating. We can get a babysitter some other night.

30 Days The memories packing brings

I spent the morning packing boxes and listing stuff on Craigslist. At one point I was going into the closet to pull my husbands sweaters and glanced at my side of the closet. And this is what I saw.
I love how it is full of flowery shirts. This has been a long process. I grew up in a house where clothing was usually navy blue and tan or gray and white. My mother's taste tended towards tweeds and denim while my father wore a business suite or Chinos with a navy blue tennis shirt everyday. My clothes were either hand me downs from older friends or bought along the lines of their tastes. As I grew older they felt like my own.

But I remember spending hours looking a catalogs with dresses and shirts with flowery patterns and light colors. I would wander through the neighborhood dress shops like some people do jewelry stores. But when it was time for a new dress they were usually very dignified or casual.

Slowly after I left home more feminine clothing entered my wardrobe but I still preferred blacks, blues and greens, and nothing to girly. It wasn't that I didn't like the colorful stuff it was just that I felt awkward wearing it.

After I meet my husband I was introduced to a new palette of colors for clothing. He wore oranges and browns and light blues. Since we were fairly close in size I found myself in his t-shirts and button downs often. It was a slow process but I eventually added more light colors to my closet. But the dresses and skirts and flowery prints still eluded. Then we moved to Denver where the summers are hot (I know I've mentioned this before) and so I started to wear skirts on hot days and well they've drifted into my life and I have begun to love them.
The flowers came along slowly first in blues then broadening. Until now the closet bursts with colors.

But I was trying to tell a story. Last Fall a childhood friend came for a week. We were getting ready to go out for a nice dinner and for fun I asked her to choose me clothing, like she used to years before. Before we got to my room she told me that I should wear something flowery, as a joke. She was surprised to see my closet and me causally saying 'but which one'.

My family is still surprised when they see me in anything other than jeans and t-shirts or some women's version of a male piece of clothes. The funny thing is if I map this change in wardrobe I see that it follows a more complex line of changes in me as a person. As I have become more confidant with who I am I have felt more at ease in my body and therefore more willing to wear different colors.

In a lot of ways I can thank Kevin for a lot of these changes. He has always been supportive of my choices and he never expects less of me since I am a woman. Yet he revels in my womanness. With this support I have been able to pursue the things that are important to me and not worry that he might be critical. Knowing that he is there loving me has allowed me to become more of who I am. From starting a non-profit to wearing dresses.

hmm... I think I'll go kiss him.

SPC Engaging With the Earth

When I was young I went to a camp in the Adirondack Mountains in New York. When the mountains were in reach and we were driving up highway 73 I was be shaking like a dog with excitement. As soon as the car would pull into the camp I would run from the car checking to make sure all my favorite spots were still there. It wasn't until I had sat on one of the boulders did I feel grounded.

As an adult I still feel a connection to rocks, of all sizes. Having a rock beneath or a stone in my hand makes me feel more alive. I even have a small stone from years ago that I still lay on my tongue and get a certain calmness. Some people are enlivened by scenery or animals for me it is the stones.

Dolores LaChapelle

The following is my next article to be published at Travels in Paradise.

The first winter I was in Colorado I took an avalanche course at Hesperus Ski Hill, a one lift hill where cows grazed in the summer. It was not the full course that they gave up at the Silverton Avalanche School but it was a solid start for someone who liked to cross country ski in the backcountry. Among our instructors was a married couple who were full of stories of the old days of backcountry skiing. As the years have past the memory faded. Until the other day when I was reading a magazine and there was an obituary for Dolores LaChapelle. In thinking about what I know about her life I believe the couple was her and her husband.

LaChapelle is among a group of environmental writers who shared a philosophy known as Deep Ecology. As Alan Drengson of the Foundation of Deep Ecology explains Deep Ecology is "the long-range deep approach involves redesigning our whole systems based on values and methods that truly preserve the ecological and cultural diversity of natural systems."

Dolores focused on the sacred connection between people and the natural world. She explored this through ritual, backcountry skiing and the sacred connection between the earth and women. Her writings were hefty and academic and her ideas we spiritual in nature. She felt that "If we are to truly connect with the land, we need to change our perceptions and our approach more than our location." LaChapelle lived out her philosophies in Silverton Colorado where she divided her time between writing and directing the Way of the Mountain Leaning Center. In her spare time, Dolores also skied the back country.

As a mother I find myself looking for spiritual connections more often. LaChapelle's belief that ritual as a form of connection to the earth and ones community has infiltrated our life. She saw the connection between our lives and the planet we live on in a feminine way. How was I to know who the funny old woman with her tales of teaching members of the Army Corps of Engineers how to detonate avalanches in the seventies had so much more to teach.

As a family we are creating our own rituals, we hike in the canyon with the apple trees every spring when they are in bloom to welcome their sweetness. As my son is drifting off to sleep I sing him songs of the mountains and seas. When choosing our wedding date we decided to coincide it with Lammas which is the celebration of the first wheat harvest in the Celtic tradition. To recognize both our marriage and Lammas the spot where we were married has a garden that blooms around that time.

It is my understanding of the importance of these rituals that we seek out that is the gift that the words of Dolores LaChapelle gave me.

One of her articles is here

For more information on Deep Ecology you can find it here

Memorial

Rosebeth with her husband Randall

No words of travel or Alder today. Just a note to honor the memory of Rosebeth Miller (Caplan). She passed away yesterday at Canterbrook. My heart goes out to Randal, Annie, Daniel, David, Rowan, Irene and Joel.

Take a moment today to give you love to a parent or child today with her spirit in your thoughts.

Heifer International has a list of pledges in her honor.

Stacey

Mama musing

I don't always feel as though I'm really a mother. Alder is my son and I take care of him and love him but coming into the role of Mother is a slow process. Tonight I was upstair and walked by his room which has really begun to look like a childs room not just a changing station and it hit me. One of those slight gasps from the bottom of the lungs when you briefly see things how they are. The light in his room always glows because of the yellow walls but tonight there was something else about it, as if my little boy has finally left his soul print somewhere.
As an individual Alder is already quite sure of himself, he spends sometimes ten minutes investigating a single object or intently watching one of us in action. His eyes are so full that I can just feel him storing away everything he is taking in. Sometimes I catch him watching me when I'm doing something less than motherly and I wonder what he will think of it later. But mainly I observe him watching the world around him and feel that I have a lot to live up to.
Mothering as an act has come naturally to me. I am finding contentness in the minutae and days pass differently than before. Still I don't yet feel as though I am altered. Perhaps I'll never feel that I am a mama first before I am an individual. As with everything else in my life I see Alder and my relationship with him as another piece to the collage. Later I'll look back and see the piece that is my life is filled with many different Alders included; already there is the newborn Alder and the Alder inside of me who have taken up residency in the collage. Maybe this is how I will grow into Motherhood as a role, it will be the adding of experiences.
If I am to always be an independent woman beyond my role of mother I can hope to pass this on to Alder. To raise an independent child he'll need to see Kevin and I being independent. Something neither of us can shed. He'll have to know that his life and love is secure with us so that he won't feel the need to watch over it, or leave it behind.
Part of the mystery of this motherhood is that I am here without a map, my own memories of my mother are from such a young age that I can not seperate her actions out from my general existance. I remember a lot about her and how we spent our time but I am aware that her choices and mine are very different. While she continued seriously in her teaching and research I want to give more of my time to Alder, not forgoing my writing.
When I think of my own mother I see her at the breakfast table first, eating dark toast and marmalade with black coffee. She wears her light blue robe, acrylic and fuzzy, reading the paper. The view grows wider and we are in Plainfield, our summer weeks there one of my prize possetions. The rythm of those days, of wandering, swimming and reading are what I seek to emmulate. I have a different memory of her too one of someone always busy. There were always students, and seminars, reviews to write and reseach to do. She love it all with passion, I can't imagine having something so important that it pulls me away from Kevin and Alder so much. I don't regrett her choices or resent them, she was the most needed Joyce/mother and hopefully I can be the most needed Stacey/mother. Even if my memories of her are faint I can try to use them as some reference.
Each of us leaves a footprint when we are gone, I think we all contenplate them occationally, my mother's was of an anthropologist who was a mother, a wife and a lover of sports. Mine will be different, I can only hope to instill in my child the wonderful sense of purpose and passion that she has given me.
I supose then feeling the part of mother is just those moments as I had standing in his doorway, only as he is around longer they will become more.