Wild Midwest Rain Storms

Midwest rain storms are curiously intense this year. I got a couple photos when a storm passed by my home last night.

This rainbow was visible in its entirety across the horizon--a complete 180 degree arch. A faint second rainbow appears to the left of the primary rainbow.

Good Medicine

I called in sick today. A virus and the rainy weather had given me an overwhelming need to sleep. I turned on CSPAN Senate coverage to watch for a few minutes. CSPAN is wonderful: it has no commercials. I quickly fell into a deep sleep and woke hours later, in the afternoon, to Sen. Bernie Sanders speaking passionately about the need to expand Medicare to everyone. I love that guy.

I got up to let the dogs out and fix a cup of soup. When the soup was done and the dogs back in, I sat on the sofa to watch more CSPAN. Samantha plopped herself down at my feet. The timing was impeccable, as the Senate was about to adjourn for a time. CSPAN plays great chamber music when nothing else is happening.

When the music began, it was a little loud. I looked down to see if it disturbed Samantha. She lifted her head and looked at the TV. There was nothing on the screen but text and the occasional Senate staffer walking across the Chamber. She watched intently, occasionally lifting her ears and tilting her head to study the screen more carefully. The last time I’d seen her watch TV so attentively, I was watching Winged Migration. I marveled at what could possibly be so interesting to her about Senate down time.

After a few minutes, Samantha took an interest in the sound of the spoon reaching the bottom of my soup cup. She sat up to stare at me as I finished the soup. I shared a carrot and a couple small bits of beef then got up to rinse the cup. When I came back, we snuggled under a soft blanket. I melted into the warmth and the music, so grateful to enjoy a rare bit of heaven on a cold, dark afternoon. Now, that's good medicine.

Corn Rows

I'm weary of ranting and worrying about health (not) care reform (not), Confederate flags flying in my neighborhood (never seen that before), and powerful people who continue to drag us down paths of insanity.

So, I give you corn--simple, beautiful, orderly.

These Fabulous Days

What a weekend: perfect temperatures, light breezes, and spectacular skies. I have never seen a mountain or a desert that moves my soul like the broad, beautiful horizons of the Midwestern United States.

It was hard to spend any time inside. The beauty of the days brought back so many memories of times when I was young, fit, and full of adventure: sharing hot summer nights in a pup tent with my dad's dog, steering a boat across open waters with the wind whipping through my hair, relaxing by fabulous camp fires under star-dense skies, dancing for hours in the rain with high school friends. Life was hard then, but never have I been so alive--in body and spirit.

I miss those days. Friends and family who shared my love of nature are all gone now, moved away or passed on. My body is tired and my joints are stiff and painful. But I am still blessed with the opportunity and the ability to enjoy a beautiful day when it comes along. I am all too aware that, as Jane Kenyon would say, one day it will be otherwise.

Otherwise by Jane Kenyon.

A Sure Sign of Spring

Yesterday was Groundhog's Day, and I have no idea if the little guy saw his shadow. We had a better sign of Spring at our house.

My husband and I were busy trying to revive an old TV in a back room when My Constant Companion (Samantha) went ballistic, barking and jumping, making a dreadful fuss. We stopped and stared at her, puzzled for a moment. Then I realized: this is Terror Alert Level Red. I hadn't seen this behavior since last summer.

Could it be??? I looked out the window toward the backyard, and there he was: OSAMA! Osama is a plump rabbit who made his hideout under our yard barn last Spring. He (she?) would emerge from under the barn near dusk every day, sitting in the same spot, seemingly doing nothing but enjoying the fresh air. Samantha would keep vigil and when she'd spot him, all hell would break loose in our house. "You'd think that rabbit was a terrorist," I remarked. So, we named him Osama.

Sometime in mid-summer, Osama vanished. I suspected that Samantha and the weed trimmer finally sent him fleeing to Pakistan, or a neighboring lot. We never saw him again--until yesterday--sitting there in the melting snow in his favorite spot. Welcome back, old friend. Spring must not be far away.

POSTSCRIPT, Nov. 2010
Several months later, Samantha caught Osama. It didn't go well for Osama. As upset as I was with her, I did praise her being a hell of a lot smarter than George W. Bush.

A Little Bit 'O Honey

This has been a hard winter, especially out in the country. We've had more ice this year and, like so many places, the powers that be are not salting or plowing as much. Still, I love living in a place with distinct seasons, each with its own beauty. This is the view today looking east from our house.

The new snowfall gave me a reason to get out into the elements and get some much-needed exercise--shoveling. It was bitter cold--wind chill not much above zero--but the love of nature is in my DNA, and I enjoyed being outside.

As I dressed to go out, My Constant Companion (Samantha) insisted that she come along. She loves it when we go out together. So, I bundled her up in her fleece Illini jacket, and out we went. In less than ten minutes, she wanted back in the house where she would join her sister, basking in the sun in front of the bedroom windows, leaving me to shovel on my own.

Life is a lot harder these days than it used to be--for me and for many others. We struggle to keep the power bill paid, despite keeping the house way too cold. The checking account is always empty and the cupboard is nearly bare well before the next paycheck comes in. But life's simplest pleasures--the beauty of nature, the warmth of the sun shining through a window, a little outdoor exercise--have remained constant. For that, of course, I am most grateful.

Church on Monday at The Great Holy Temple

Many years ago, I was amply and adequately baptized for life: three times by immersion, one each for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Yet today, I was baptized once again.

The service was perfect. The choir made my favorite music from lofty branches of lush old trees bordering the sanctuary. Leaves rustling in the wind and the sound of water pooling up from beneath the ground made peaceful accompaniment.

I lay on the ground, soaking up nourishing rays of sunlight, watching puffs of bright white clouds roll across a glorious blue sky. All of my senses received a message of peace and redemption from the chaos of mankind. No other place, no other experience, is so full of the Spirit that nurtures and gives life.

My beautiful hound, devoted companion, Samantha, filled her cheeks at the water pool; I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath of fresh air. Without warning, Samantha bolted toward me, thrusting her snout in the air in grand celebration, splashing ice cold water across my face, arms, and legs, baptizing me into the everlasting faith of the Great Holy Temple of My Backyard.

When All Else Fails, Read a Good Book

The last two months have been hard. Amid personal medical and insurance battles, my mother's increasing dementia, ugly politics locally and nationally, and growing frustration with our corrupt corporate culture, I found myself in an intolerable state of mind. I decided a good novel was the best prescription, and I found just the cure: The Secret of Lost Things by Sheridan Hay.

Whew! I needed that.

Here's my review from Goodreads.com:
This book was a thoroughly enjoyable, engaging read. The setting is a used book shop, filled with great books and staffed by unique, mostly erudite, characters. The pursuit of books and a mysterious lost manuscript are vehicles for telling the story, but this is not a book about books. It's the story of a young woman's transformation from child to self-sufficient adult and the intriguing and sometimes fanciful relationships that shape her transformation.

Finding Meaning in Life: A Wonderful Piece of Film

Independent Lens: Water Flowing Together

This is the biography of Jock Soto, a principal dancer in the New York City Ballet for 24 years. Born on a Navajo reservation in Arizona, he embodies art, dedication, and self-actualization. His story is utterly unique. His story also demonstrates what can happen when parents embrace their child's dream.

Lunatic Shopping

My husband and I decided to do something we'd never done before: join all the crazy people shopping before the sun came up on this so-called Black Friday. I figured it would be a good adventure. We were interested in a low-end laptop and router equipment at Best Buy. Not being morning people, we struggled to arrive by 6 AM, an hour later than we'd hoped. Cars were parked e v e r y w h e r e -- in closed restaurant lots, along the sides of parking lots, and any other place where a car would fit. Inside the store, every available square foot was occupied by homo sapiens.

We dashed (er...uh....pushed and shoved?) our way to the computer section. Too late! All the laptops were gone. Se la vi: we keep our money. Our luck was not all bad, though: there had been no mad rush on routers. We picked up the equipment and sought a check-out line. OMG! There was one line that started at the front registers and wrapped all the way around the perimeter of the store. (So I thought.) We got in line with blind faith that we would eventually find our way out.

In fairly short order, we worked our way toward the back of the store. It was looking good. Then reality hit: the line wove down and around each and every aisle in the store, probably 18 aisles. We'd only just begun.

Just as we began to move through the aisles, a plain, small-framed young woman behind me spoke, commenting on the outlandish price of HD TVs. With that ice breaker, we struck up a conversation. Over the course of the next hour and fifteen minutes, as we wove through aisles of DVDs, electronics, appliances, and bins of items meant to temp us, we became friends.

She was exactly one-third my age, a first-semester freshman at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, studying to become an environmental chemist. Never have I met such an interesting, delightful teenager. We talked about our mutual love for the diversity of life in a university community, our experiences learning and speaking Spanish, her travels to Europe, consumerism, the environment, and so on.

I noticed that she was holding only one item, a music CD, and asked why she would brave the mobs and lines for one CD. She hugged the CD with delight and began to explain just how special it was. She described the music as mellow and acoustic, with an unusual mixture of bells and other instruments. Her enthusiasm nearly convinced me to jump out of line to buy one for myself. The CD is Sufjan Stevens' Songs for Christmas. I've been able to hear small snippets of his music via Internet, and I'm intrigued. I suspect the album is a delight.

Our visit finally ended at the cash registers, where we exchanged well wishes and parted ways, sorry, in a way, that it was over. So, I was right -- the lunatic shopping was an adventure. The shopping was not even remotely worth the trouble, but I'd get up in the middle of the night to spend another hour with my delightful friend, if I ever had the chance again.

My Botticelli Baby

Time for a break from politics and controversy . . . .

I hate to clean house. Ugh. Because we have dogs, we have very little carpeting and lots of hairy dust bunnies on the tile and wood floors. Every three days, those floors need to be cleaned a g a i n. For years, I'd been spending a lot of effort trying to clean the floors with straw brooms, electric brooms, and a cheap vacuum from Target. One day a couple of months ago, I got fed up. Surely there was a better way???

After a little research, I decided to invest in a good canister vac. I went to an actual vacuum store and talked to a vacuum expert. Right then and there I purchased a new Italian vacuum, a Botticelli, which only recently became available in the US. I got the least expensive one, but it's ten times more effective, quiet, clean, and easy to use than any of the cheap machines I'd always purchased. It must be the best $279 I ever spent. I'm amazed every time I use it. Thank you, Mr. Botticelli!

By the way, don't ever buy a bagless. Nasty!

Check out vacuums by Botticelli.

Drink Your Tea

I love tea -- good old black tea, not fruity tea or herbal 'tea'. A fine black tea with honey and lemon is so sublime. Not any tea will do, however! I'm picky about my tea. It's hard to find a good cup or glass in the USA. The best tea I've found is Typhoo, which is imported from England. It ain't cheap, but it's worth it. The decaf tastes just as good as the regular, which is almost too good to be true.

A simple cup of tea is one of life's pleasures. It has plenty of health benefits, too. Take time to smell the flowers and savor a cup of tea. And if you add lemon and honey, notice how the bitter and the sweet combine to make the most marvelous flavor. Think about it.

Homecoming for Troops

Over 200 troops returned to our community from Iraq two days ago. They served in the heart of the action in Bagdad and Falujah. Organizers planned a welcome-home parade for that morning. I chose not to go because I was tired and the events were to be covered on local radio. Very bad decision.

The celebration proved to be the most exciting community event in many, many years. Most of those who attended shed tears and felt a part of something very special. It's no surprise. There is something spiritual about a community gathering together to celebrate. We've lost so much sense of community in this country. We're in dire need of things that bring us together in meaningful ritual.

This particular celebration was all about surviving the bitter and the savoring the sweet together. It was so much more than a welcome home. It was life at its bitter sweetest.