Celebrating National Women's Day

My husband and I just finished a movie, "Women Talking" and it reminded me of a short story I had published in an anthology many, many years ago.  I thought it was relevant for the day.  Here it is for your reading.  

 

Learning to Fly 

Opal wore long stockings and long sleeves with her long dress.  A scarf covered her head.  All the other girls and the women wore the same wrappings.  All the women changed their clothes in a small dark room that was in each house.  Everyone always changed alone. No one smiled or laughed unless you were not a girl or woman.  Opal’s memories were of silence since no one was allowed to talk with another unless you were not a girl or a woman.

            One day, something wonderful happen to Opal.  A small white feather floated down from the sky and landed on the back of her hand.  It tickled and Opal felt a stirring in her heart.  A shudder ran up from her hand to her body.  The corner of her lips started to turn upwards in a smile.  A small laugh came out; it sang like chimes in the wind.  Opal looked around.  No one had seen the feather or heard her laughter.  The girl gently covered the feather with her hand and wondered.

            One day when the men and the boys left the town to do whatever they did, Opal did a brave thing.  She took the feather and walked down to the river.  She removed her shoes and stockings and touched her feet and legs

with the feather.  It tickled.  Her lips smiled and the small laugh returned, tinkling like bells hung on a string Opal removed her scarf and a little breeze played on her hair.  Another laugh struggled out.  Her long dress followed her scarf and remained on the ground.  Opal held the feather in one hand and stretched her arms up to the sky.  She felt different.

            The girl noticed for the first time the soft hair on her arms and legs.  The wind felt delicious as it blew across her body.

            Opal was smiling and laughing.  She was unaware of the girls and women that were huddled in a group near her.  Their eyes were full of awe and confusion.  They came closer.  The soft “ohs” coming from their throats began to grow into a long note of joy as they began to remove their wrappings.  The air was filled with flowing hair and singing laughter.  The girls and women surrounded Opal in a large circle and joined hands.  They felt different.

            They were unaware of the men and boys who were beginning to stand around them.  Their faces were full of dismay and anger.  They wanted to stop the women. They shouted.  Opal and the girls and the women began to sway and to dance in their circle.  They could not see the men’s and boys’

anger or hear their shouting.  The songs of joy were so loud that the men and boys put their hands over their ears to keep from hearing the songs.

            Opal grew brighter and taller, the girls and women grew brighter and taller.  The men and the boys covered their eyes to keep from seeing the girls and women grow brighter.  Opal and the girls and the women grew brighter.  They were different.  They marveled that they could feel so light and felt themselves slowly drift upward into the sky.  The men and the boys cried for them to return but Opal and the girls and the women drifted higher into the sky, for they were different and learning to fly.

As I shared this I am filled with gratitude I have been loved and cherished for all of my life by both men and women in my immediate family and treated with kindness by other men who came briefly into my life.  I am a miracle.  I am strong.  I am complete and I am enough.  

Reflections of Light

 

Reflections of Light

 

Sometimes we are reminded of the light of the world when we see it shining in front of us. I live in Oregon where most of our days during a normal year is overcast if not rainy. So, it is a really a delight to experience the light of the sun streaming in the windows illuminating the carpet on the floor, showing the dust on bookcases, bits of lint and what-not on various surfaces untouched and forgotten by a cleaning rag or the swoosh of the vacuum. 

It was one such day this January when I walked into the kitchen to find bands of light on my kitchen cupboards. I was transfixed. I stood unmoving, not breathing for fear of it disappearing before I grasped all its beauty and warmth. It bought to the front of my mind other days of light and sunshine and I sank into the moment being present. I did not worry about outside the kitchen, outside my door, in the neighborhood, across the bridge, the ocean or anywhere. A bit of the light hit my back and though I couldn’t see the light I felt its gentle warmth. A slightly surprised warmth being drawn from millions of miles to me at this moment lingering without an agenda as if it was saying, “So there you are.”

It is hard in this present day world to find a light, a purpose with so much being thrown in the thought cloud of the world. Thought cloud, I like that. I try and adjust my thought cloud on a day-to-day basis. I work on the little thoughts. Letting them come and go until I find something I like or think I like. It is hard to tell sometimes. Particularly, when so many of the thoughts are twirling and whirling about. They are restless, some are lonely, others passionate with some screaming to be heard. I try to let them settle, to find a safe corner, a high pinnacle, to hide until they are ready. 

The important thing for me is to let them, my wayward thoughts know they are loved, the experiences we shared are all good as we have survived, we exist and just like the light on cupboards we have our moments in the sun and it is glorious.

 

Walking with Bella  

 

I went walking with Bella today.  I can’t say it was a long time coming as I didn’t know she would be part of my life until I received an email stating she would be arriving.

She doesn’t mind the cold and seemed to particularly interested in sharing her warmth and comfort as she could provide. Today was a windy day so we bundled up, cuddled a bit and I cooed to let her know how soft and pretty she was even though her size was not great.

The sunlight was deceiving, the wind was cutting but we put our heads to the wind and bravely continued down this street and another, stopping to gaze at the silly daffodils blooming in the chill. I moved her a bit to settle the warmth between us. Not a single complaint as she was adjusted here and there to ensure continual warmth beneath a hiding sun behind storm clouds hovering with a wish to rain.

I knew our walk would not be long with rain seeking to drop out of the sky. It was after all a first walk for us. A time to get acquainted, to find out our likes and dislikes, how we would fit together and to dream of our future.

We didn’t talk, there was an easy silence between us. No words were needed just a comfortable feeling of new friends.

 

This little story is for Anne, my sister-in-law and her great kindness and cleverness.  A wonderful gift given in love and very timely with the chilly weather.  I thank you. Bella is a beautiful Merino wool scarf woven on a loom by Anne. 

The Art of Becoming Patient

 

 

Recently I bought a new teapot.  I have a stainless steel one already.  It lives on our wood stove insert. It is filled with water for cold days until it heats up from the comfortable burning fire. The man, my husband is the fire builder.  The fires he makes are generally because he has walked by me and has seen me huddled beneath several woven lap blankets, assorted knitted throws, and what-nots. The sight of me shivering with three sweaters on, hands tightly gripping a (burn your fingers) cup of hot tea stirs something in my husband.  After kissing the top of my head, he promptly sets about starting a fire.

We don’t always have a fire burning as I am not good about tending to it while he is gone during the day unless he has carefully placed wood at the ready in the garage for me.  I get distracted somehow and the fire goes untended until it dies in despair.

Back to the new teapot.  It is blue and beautiful.  It is a whistling teapot.  I had seen it in a little kitchen shop before Christmas but I had only admired it from afar as I was on a mission for pizza at the small bakery next door.  The pizza was still in the oven and I was wandering and biding my time patiently waiting for hot, delicious pizza for our lunch.  I was looking only, no touching, the better to resist temptation.  As food was on the horizon, I quickly lost interest in the wonders of the kitchen store. The pizza was perfect.

It is now January.  After watching an episode of Voir on television, the teapot came to life. The presenter was having tea and was pouring from my teapot.  I promptly said, “I want that.”

My husband, the man ever attentive in old moments asked, “What?”

“The teapot.”

I now have the teapot.  It is teaching me patience.  Whereas before I would fill my cup with water, microwave, steep and it was ready, my tea takes a longer process with the teapot. First, fill the teapot to an exact line, place on the heat, wait for the boil and after the whistle, wait 15 to 20 seconds off of the heat. This takes more than 1 minute, 30 seconds in the microwave I had been doing for a cup of tea. 

I make a matcha green tea with powder.  I have always found it soothing. The precise measuring with my son’s baby spoon of the matcha, the whisking of a bit of hot water and matcha together without a thought in my head as I gaze at the motion of the whisk, the green powder undergoing a transformation into a cloudy green liquid. I still do it.  But the blue teapot has added a new dimension.  The matcha still does its thing, I still whisk but my thoughts have a hint of anticipation.  An excitement.  A waiting.  Boiling down to becoming patient.

 

 

 

Walking without lead in my pockets

It is windy today.  We are expecting another large rain/wind storm on this Monday.  After the man headed for work, I bundled up and headed for a walk trying to gain some steps for the day. I walked here. I walked there.  Always staying at least 2 blocks from home, opting out of walking nearer the forest and the tall trees which were bending now and then in the wind.  I contemplated the ease of walking up one street thinking not bad, not much wind, I might be able to go further as the sky did not look like it was ready to dump buckets of water on me.  Until I turned a corner.  I stood still. Trying to hold my ground. As the wind gust eased up, I stepped forward determined to make it a few blocks more.  I ended up stopping, holding my place, my back to the wind as I was pelted with small debris. Needles from the pines, leaves of gold and red from maples, twigs broken and now heading for parts unknown.  I changed my mind, though my heart was in it, for the walking but common sense against having bits and pieces blown into my face, my glasses, and my eyes made me turn around and head for home. 

I like being home on a blustery, rainy day. I spend part of it turning on lamps as the house darkens with the presence of heavy skies. I have wandered about the house now, turning on the lamps which add a false warmth to the rooms.  Outside, the storm has arrived.  It is time for a cup of tea, a moment of sitting in a comfortable chair, with a warm cover on my legs.  It is times like this, I don’t read, I don’t watch a video or tv.  I like to just sit with the tea, hearing the rushing of the wind, the pounding of rain on the roof and windows.  

I used to love the sound of wind and rain but now I find an occasional note of discord vibrating through me.  The world has changed or maybe it is just me with a different awareness.  Whenever I feel it, the note swimming around, I let it hover, I let it dive and I breathe. 

Today, I turned off all of the lights, sat in my chair with my hands and fingers wrapped around the cup. Hot, close to burning but warming my hands as I drank the tea. A bit of cold metal brushed my cheek. The long sterling silver teaspoon nestled in the cup.  I use it to stir my matcha tea as it settles.  I enjoyed the near burning sensation of heat on my fingers, on the palm of my hand.  How often, I just do things without paying attention to what is really going on.  Today, I was present. When my tea was gone. I rested in silence, filled myself with gratitude.

It is always gratifying when you step into a different awareness no matter how brief.  In a wind storm walking without lead in my pockets makes me aware of how light I am, how small in a great big universe.  I like it.

 

 

 

Talking over the Fence 

 

I sometimes think about going to visit friends I haven’t seen for a long time but I stop.  The thought they are probably busy with other friends and family keeps me from calling.  I don’t want to take up their time.  I was wrong.

After connecting with friends, we had a date.  A lovely drive on a Sunday morning to reach their home in the county.  We were greeted by them and two dogs. We strolled in the yard where the summer splendor had been spent leaving a few buds and blooms about. It was a lovely fall day. We talked and stood enjoying the sun on our backs.  There was no reason to do more.

We had been told to bring our coffee cups for coffee. One of our friends said he thought we would be bringing larger mugs.  We had bought small cups.  No matter, he said and off he went with cups in hand to make lattes. When he returned, we sat beneath a large umbrella to keep what morning sun there was from our eyes so we could gaze at the faces of friends not seen since the beginning of shut down from the virus.  As I told them how much the visit meant to me, tears formed in my eyes.  I was surprised to the depth of my emotions.  I thought I had been handling the isolation quite well but then I had been working locked in an office occasionally seeing co-workers masked while passing in the hallways.  I had only been partially secluded.

I missed seeing, touching, and listening to others.  I am fortunate. I have the man, my husband to keep me company.  He is a wonderful companion and friend but I realized the glory of other bare faces looking at me, and different voices in the air on this Sunday morning. It was as if discovering the beauty of dew or rain drops upon the upturned heads of flowers.  Beautiful, sacred, and a miracle.  It was no wonder there were tears of emotions gathering in my eyes.  Contentment filled me.

As our conversations grew with the help of lattes and then the introduction of a lavender sponge cake, it occurred to me.  This type of moment needed no encouragement, no planning.  I hung on every word, every gesture, and the very whisper of a breeze. I was present.

We were treated to a lunch outside in the air.  It was delicious.  I licked my fingers clean.  As I look back on the day in the country, I have hopes for another such day.  It will happen but the apples on the trees will be gone.  Made into pies, applesauce.  I am still enjoying mine picked on a sunny Sunday day with friends who I hope are not waiting for my call. I will no longer think I am intruding on their peace, time with other friends and family.  They have all the time in the world and part of it is for me.

 

When is enough, enough?

 

I drive myself sometimes with the most trivial things.  I go for months with doing a new ritual of drinking a tonic of lemon in hot water with turmeric, ginger and cayenne pepper, sometimes with a bit of local honey.  It is a way of taking care of myself.  I make a practice of walking throughout the day until it is a habit. I stretch and touch my toes as a balancing act.  I admit somedays, I am wobbly. It is because I get distracted. My mind wanders into what I imagine I want to do for the day.  Being retired is hard.  Planning nap time, tea time, reading time and writing time.  I have been falling down on the writing time.  Distractions.

I will be at my computer working on a story when I become aware of my breathing.  I stop.  Typing is at halt. I pray. I breathe.  I envision.  It is a moment of peace.  Distraction? No, an awareness for me.  I am in the moment.

You know I start out this piece with an idea of a different sort.  I have mentioned my hauling out bathwater to our parched little tree who is now in the process of changing colors.  She will be magnificent. I am glad she is doing it.  Our son and his wife just flew out for a visit.  Little tree will do us proud.  He has never seen her in all of her glory. But I am rambling.

Saturday was a day of doing things.  We needed to go to the airport in the evening to pick up the kids.  I was on a mission and the man my husband was being steered right and left with things to be done. First, he needed to walk the wife. He ran the same route after safely delivering me home.  I mentioned to him to take his bath early as I needed him to come to the farmer’s market to carry the bounty to the car.  He asked me if I want the bath for myself after he was done.  Yes, we share the bathwater.  Get over it.  We have been sharing for over forty years. 

Tine got away from me with making a cup of matcha green tea with the powder, the time devoted to get the water temperature just right, whisking with my bamboo whisk, the pouring of additional water.  I needed to make breakfast, toast with avocado and tomatoes.  Busy, busy, busy. So, the bathwater was left unattended as we drove to the local farmer’s market.

We were successful with a bounty of lovely fruits, vegetables and some fresh mushrooms and our standard cup of Saturday coffee.  We figured the coffee would be greatly needed for our late trip to the airport.  After the fun and success at market we headed home.  Places in the garage, the fridge and the kitchen were found for nearly everything and I headed to my bath, dreaming of settling into its comfort and warm.

Did I mention we were gone for hours? I shrieked, memories of dunks into mountain ponds, creeks and rivers of my childhood returned.  I yelled to my husband. “Its cold.”

“Well, yeah.” He replied. 

I was quick.  I submersed myself, soaped quickly, rinsed even faster and was out in a flash.  Well, as rapid as a sixty-seven-year, old woman could be.

I thought to myself when is enough, enough.  I was conserving water. I was helping in some small way the planet.  But damn, the water was cold.