ravings of dkchi

Daily Meditations - January 24, 2012

2012-01-24T09:30:00.001-06:00

Great Early Morning Smoke of my Backyard!

Great Smoking Mirror - Reflections

Through the smoke
I see looking back
Another reflection of me.
Mirror of my inner-self
Who are you
If I am me?
Mirror of my outer-self
What do others see?
Is it the truth in my heart
Or human vanity?
*Sacred Path Cards
**What needs to be done

Moose - Self-Esteem
Moose... Help me to honor the gifts I can give,
And recognize my worthiness long as I live.
*Medicine Cards
**How to do it

Meditation Points - January 22, 2012

2012-01-22T10:58:00.000-06:00

Storyteller - Expansion:
Sing to me, oh Ancient Ones,
Of the history of our race.
That I may see in my mind,
The love in every face.
And every spirit that came before,
The Medicine that they made,
The Sacred Tradition they passed to me
So the memory will not fade.
Oh, Storyteller, be my bridge
To those other times.
So I may walk in Beauty with
The ancient rhythm and rhyme.
*Sacred Path Cards
*This is what needs to be done.
To feed my personal Fire of Creation. To remember my personal Medicine and how to BE my potential.

Bear - Introspection:
Bear...
Invite me
Into the cave
Where silence surrounds
The answers you gave.
*Medicine Cards
*This is how to do what must be done.
Enter the silence and become acquainted with the Dream Lodge, so that my goals may become concrete realities.

**Medicine and Sacred Path Tarot Readings available. Email.

2011

2011-12-28T14:50:00.000-06:00

Whatwould I have done differently? This is a question that’s plagued me for years,and that is exactly why it’s so difficult to answer. I should have done numerous things differently throughout myfifty-five years on this planet. Very few, however, would I actually choose to do differently, because then Iwould be another Donna Kiser than I am today.

Considering only the past twelve months though is not onlyeasier, but also necessary in measuring goal-setting outcomes to adjust goingforward. So here goes:

More research on teaching overseas before spending $1200 on certification
Curb the acting-on-emotion, but don’t lose spontaneity

Leaving Wisconsin before summer housing was confirmed
Falling in love with a location because of scenery, and moving w/o research
Trusting too quickly (this is an ongoing, perpetual issue for me)

More activity, less sitting
More writing, less work
Promote self more (another biggie for me)
Worrying about what others think

I think that’s plenty for the page, there’s tons more runningcircles in my head. At least I’ve have the groundwork for 2012's action plan,except for #1. Not much I can do now about #1 but I can remind myself to researcha LOT before making decisions—kinda goes with #2.

The Barter System Today

2011-12-19T15:39:00.001-06:00

Bartering is an exchange of goodsor services without a monetary exchange, and has been around for centuries. Although it went out of fashion for a time with the rise of capitalism,it has always been around among folks who understand the value of each other’stalents. While bartering has made a substantial comeback in these trying economic times, some don’t understand the concept, and literally abuse it.

I recently acquired a puppy from alocal dog boarding and training facility. His shots were included in theacquisition, so I went back frequently.

Mello (my dog) and I came alongnicely with training but I thought professional training would make us bothbetter. I noticed the severely disjointed website of the boarder’s. I offered acomplete re-design in exchange for the $1200 training package. There wasn’tmuch of a response and even when asked if he thought it wasn’t an equitabletrade, he said he was just busy.

Well, as the months went on, alongwith the acquisition of Mello was a flea infestation. Off we go to the boarderwho does a couple flea treatments on Mello and both cats accompanied by flea,heart, and worm pills. Additionally, Mello needed another worm treatment. Again,I asked about the exchange. For the $141.00 in checks, I would organize allphotos on his server, which amounted to hundreds. I would verify they weren’t onthe site and then organize them in an “old photo” file in any method he chose.No response.

Days later, I get a voice mail saying that hehad some web work, to come by so we could talk and “bring the dog.” Turnsout he just self-published a poetry book and wanted me to do promotions. Tryingto nail him down on exactly where he wanted to start was difficult, but I managed a list ofthree items:

Facebook account
Author/book website
Compile list of reviewers

He wanted to talk about training as exchangebut I suggested the $141.00 in checks and he agreed. Thatwas on December 12, 2011. I’ve still not received the domain name to start thesite building. He obviously thought he could do it himself and his boardingsite was down for a day. I’ve received no less than five emails and fifteenphone calls, even late night, rambling about this book and its promotion.Computer literacy is not at the top of his list and that’s ok, then let someoneelse do it and don’t confuse the situation.

What it boils down to is that he’s almost usedthe $141.00 in time without getting a tangible outcome. Facebook account, bookreviews, sharing, posting and answering his incoherent phone calls. Absolutelyno idea of the barter concept. We each do what we do in ‘equal’ amounts. Lookslike I’m going to have to tell him that I’m not his personal marketing personand I’m definitely not on call. I don’t even want his dog training anymore.

All Hail Poison

2011-12-07T17:53:00.001-06:00

That is quite the title, isn't it?

Two cats and dog resting peacefully. Traumatized and terrorized from scratching, biting, and tearing through the house trying desperately to get away from the maddening skin crawl, then spending the night in a kennel, are now stretched across my legs, beneath my chair, and curled tightly under the comforter - NO scratching, NO biting, NO running wild.

So yes, after 3 months of torture through all natural, unsuccessful alternatives, ALL HAIL POISON!
dk

December Spring Cleaning Ya'll

2011-12-05T13:48:00.001-06:00

Last entry was all about fleas and my battle to make lifeeasier for my beloved animals. You’ll be happy to know that this entry is allabout—fleas, and my continued, constant battle.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am all about naturalremedies, especially if they work. At this point though…

Let me give you a little timeline:

August: ArrivedGeorgia home with two cats, traumatized but well

23 September: Acquireddog—Mello

1st week October:Fleas arrived Georgia home

2^nd weekOctober: Flea collar for Mello

2^nd weekOctober: Spot-On treatment for cats & dog

4^th weekOctober: Capstar pill for all, flea dip and comb for all, thorough housecleaning and laundry

It was at this point that I couldn’t justify more chemicals.

1^st weekNovember: Lemon, lavender, tea tree oil wash for all, thorough housecleaning and laundry

2^nd weekNovember: 50lb diatomaceous earth spread over entire yard, lemon, lavender,tea tree oil wash for all, flea combing for all, thorough house cleaning andlaundry

3^rd weekNovember: diatomaceous earth rubbed into armchair, dining room chairs,coats of animals, oatmeal shampoo bath for all with lemon, lavender & teatree oil rinse, flea combing daily, thorough house cleaning and laundry

4^th weekNovember: Grated garlic in petwater, oatmeal shampoo bath for all with lemon, lavender & tea tree oilrinse, flea combing daily, thorough house cleaning and laundry

1^st weekDecember: Garlic & Brewers yeast in pet food, oatmeal shampoo bath forall with lemon, lavender & tea tree oil rinse, flea combing—onehour per animal, thorough house cleaning, spread diatomaceous earth around baseof exterior & sweep into baseboards, remove every piece of fabric in house,Spot-On treatment for each animal, remove all from house, flea bomb house,launder everything, wash every surface, sweep & mop. All animals contentwithout a moment of scratching.

There you have it. There should not be a solitary flea leftanywhere, right?

My house is bright and shiny, every piece of fabric cleanand fresh, the animals sufficiently traumatized.

Six hours after Spot-On Treatment, they are scratching againwith fleas visible.

Fleas, fleas, and more fleas

2011-11-27T06:22:00.001-06:00

I have washed every comforter, blanket, and rug more in the past two months than I have in a year. I do not have carpeting so there are very few places for these buggers to hide, yet, still.

In all my years of having cats, some of which were outdoor animals, I have NEVER had a flea problem - not a solitary one. Move to Georgia, get a dog, and wa-la, fleas galore.

As miserable and as infested as these animals continue to be you'd think that I would be bit to pieces myself. Nothing. Not even an itch. And the cats sleep with me.

I've tried flea collars, spot-on flea medication, flea baths (chemical and natural, professional and at home), flea pills, flea combs, scrubbing everything with vinegar and lemon juice, spreading diatinaceous earth all over the yard and around the house, and still, even with two good frosts.

The poor things scratch and bite and run around shaking. Now, I've noticed a few bumps on Mello that I thought at first might be ticks, but are just patches of dry, scaling skin with flea droppings around it.

It's not healthy to bathe cats too often, so that is out. Mello has been bathed in chemicals, oatmeal, essential oils, and Dawn dish soap. Another can't possibly be good. I feel sooo very sorry for all of them.

Today, I will once again take everything to wash in steaming water and vinegar. I will apply the spot-on medication and then comb - again. My poor, poor babies.

Love More, Fear Less

2011-11-26T09:01:00.001-06:00

At the Spirit of the Earth Church’s Samhain Festival onOctober 22, 2011, I walked the labyrinth after first searching my heart andsoul about what I needed desperately to release for 2012; searching for the onething that was holding me back from realizing my dreams. The list rolled in myhead: overeating, being lazy, worry, money, etc. Only one word kept blasting meover and over. Every time I meditated on a word that came up, this one wordblew it apart and stood prominent before my eyes, whether my eyes were closedor staring at the fire, or looking at another person who was trying to make thesame decision.

This ritual of searching and releasing was a solitary ritualin unity. It was a word or act that we were to keep to ourselves and release itin the labyrinth fires. I did that, until today. Today, I must share becausethe universe has come together yet again to support me. The word, the act thatI released; the word and the act that has held me back from everything, isFEAR.

What I realized today is that just releasing your issue onceis not enough. It must be released every moment of every day. It must beacknowledged and put aside again and again, otherwise it slowly and surelycreeps back in until it once again overwhelms you.

For days, possibly weeks if I’m to be honest, fear hasstrangled me until in the past few days, I barely moved through the house. Iwent from bed, to dining room table to armchair, and not much more. Fear isparalyzing. Fear of having made the wrong decision to move away from my supportgroup, having made the wrong decision on the location to settle, fear of havingtrusted the wrong people, fear of what people think of me, fear of what willbecome of me in the future. Fear, Fear, FEAR!

Thanks to the energy of good and positive that I’ve learned,even sub-consciously to look for, I’ve been able to acknowledge, name andrelease my issue—yet again.

The first was the reading of Tao te Ching this morning: “When you are content to be simply yourself and don’t compare or compete, everybody will respect you.” I even posted this on Facebook disputing the ending.
The second was being too lazy and involved in my delicious breakfast to get up and turn the knob when the Chattanooga Public Radio Classical 90.5 I listen to went into a religious broadcast. Amidst the bites, chews, and swallows, Pastor Jerry Arnold of the Collegedale Seventh-Day Adventist Church told a story of Navy Seals Training. He told of how instructors talked for hours about how terrible the next step would be and all they had to do was ring the bell and be saved from the torture. How several men rang the bell and left the training, not because of what they were going through but out of fear of what was to come.
The third came on top of the second. While PastorJerry Arnold was talking about being present in the moment and being thankfulfor what we have, I read an article “Love More,Fear Less: A Mantra for the Holidays” by MeiMei Fox on Huffington Post: “By giving toothers, we heal our own wounds. We become happier, more fulfilled, and evenlive longer. So yes, fear less: take on your demons, push yourself past yourlimits, be brave and bold. But also, love more, starting with yourself.”

So, I remove the dispute that “everybodywill respect you,” because it was fear that people didn’t respect me that madethat dispute. I will not stop giving, helping, and most importantly, trusting becauseof what someone else may think, and if someone doesn’t like me or doesn’t respectme and my decisions, that is their problem, not mine.

Now, out to help with Feed Fanninat Light Up Blue Ridge.

Peace and love

First Snow in North Georgia Appalachians

2011-11-14T11:21:00.001-06:00

It's mid November and 70 degrees in the Blue Ridge Mountains.Sky is overcast and the ground is a mélange of colors, except for my yard. My yard alone has capturedthe first snow fall, and it is a beautiful sight.

Actually, it is diatomaceous earth. In anutshell, it is the fossilized remains of hard-shell algae. It is food-gradeand harmless to humans and animals—unless, of course, you breathe in largevolumes of the dust. It is a flour-like substance and has innumerable uses.

My issue is with fleas in this humidenvironment. Layers of decaying leaves makes my yard (and the surrounding area)prime real estate for these little buggers, as well as gnats. In a previouspost, I declared gnats the state insect of Georgia. Well, enough of all ofthem.

My poor puppy Mello, was just miserable. AfterRocky cat found a wolf worm, the cats have, unfortunately for them, reverted tohouse pets. The cats and the dog stay completely away from each other, which iswhy neither Rocky nor Lola has fleas. Mello, who plays and rolls in the leaves,does. We spend hours training and playing in the yard and the fleas were havinga feast.

All three animals had a flea pill from Mountain Dog Boarding, a dip, an oatmeal bath, and a brushing. All bedding was washed in hotwater with vinegar. Almost $200 later and Mello still can’t sleep through thenight—which means I don’t sleep through the night.

Enter diatomaceous earth and the 2011 snowfallin Mineral Bluff, GA. DE is non-toxic and safe enough to eat—they use it ingrain silos after all. So, here’s hoping the fleas AND Georgia’s favoriteinsect, the gnats, will enjoy my white yard. Much better than attempting to RAKE!!

Getting Strong - Slowly

2011-09-27T19:13:00.001-05:00

Getting Strong – Slowly

In the continuing process of regaining a portion of thewoman I used to be, I’ve found that slow and easy must be the maxim. However,when the blood is pumping and oxygen is flowing in the act of manual labor, it’seasy to get caught up in the good feeling and over exert. I’m sure there is a fitnessexpert somewhere who would dispute this with the cliché of “no pain, no gain”,yet if you’ve ever lost a full day because of “the pain” you’re well awarethere really is “no” gain in that scenario.

Last week my neighbors opened A Wing and A Prayer Café inCopperhill, Tn. It took several weeks of cleaning and construction. I helpedonly with a bit of the painting and final setting up. As most know, myexpertise lies in writing, graphic design, and web design—so that’s what I did.I was lucky enough to acquire all the scrap wood from the construction for thebuilding of my chicken coop, compost pile, and whatever else. Wood is avaluable commodity in the country.

I had help in loading the pickup but I did the unloadingmyself. It wasn’t a small amount (even though the picture doesn't seem to show that) but after the loading, every part of my bodywas flush and roaring with strength, so I continued. It took a bit to spreadout the plastic, stack in sizes and type, and cover all secure with cementblocks. Afterward, I went back to painting for a few hours.

By bedtime the roar was replaced with screams. The musclesin my legs pinged like stretched rubber bands and my back throbbed. Eventuallya tub of steamy water and Epsom salts became my midnight rendezvous accompaniedby a cup of frothy chai tea. The next day was a complete waste. I managedmovement enough to make sure the puppy went out and I received a minimal amountof nourishment.

It took only one day to recuperate, which shows I am gettingstronger, yet it was still a lost day. Think of what other healthy pursuits mybody could’ve experienced in that day if I’d only remembered slow and easy,because there is no gain in pain.

Able-Bodied Female Again - Almost

2011-09-23T13:27:00.000-05:00

I've not written for awhile and I'd like to say it's because I've been doing tons of 'stuff' around the property. I've not, mainly due to finances, but I continue to plan and imagine. The past couple of days I've done a few things:

Back door

Being a single mother of three, there wasn’t much I couldn’tdo. I could hang drywall, replace a toilet, build a deck, brakes, oil changeand tune-up on a vehicle, or plant, maintain and harvest a garden to last afamily of four through the winter. That was thirty years ago.

After 10+ years behind a desk and in an airplane seattraveling for business, then writing, teaching, and living in a city whereeverything is within walking distance, I became very soft. Very! This I knewand was prepared for when I made my move to the mountains. What I wasn’tprepared for was all the mechanical aptitude I’d lost.

The first example was the screen doors I needed to hang onthe front and back doors. Simple wooden doors with all hardware included. Placethe door in the jamb, mark where the hinges go on the jamb and door, drillholes and screw down. Simple enough, except I didn’t have a drill. Thankfully,I have neighbors that do. And, he had an extra screw gun that he gave me. Nice.Even with all the assistance, nothing ever comes that easy, at least, not forme.

The minute I placed the door in the jamb, or tried to, Iknew there was a huge problem. Either the door or the jamb was out of square,because the door didn’t fit into the jamb. That was the front door. Tried bothdoors in that jamb, then tried both doors in the backdoor jamb, and none fitcorrectly. Off I go traipsing next door to ask if they have a plane. Of course,of course, I can use it, and of course, it’s been thirty years since I’ve eventouched one. Thankfully, men have this need to take care of damsels indistress.

He planed one side,didn’t fit; planed again, and again; then he planed the other side, didn’t fit,planed again, and again until finally it fit, so he went home. However, once Idrilled and screwed, the bottom stuck. Off came the door and the bottom planed,again and again. Everything fit perfectly except when the door closed; theinside caught on the doorjamb and wouldn’tclose. I quit. Took the door down and left it sit on the porch until the otherneighbor came by. “I thought Floyd said he got it all hung for you.” I told himthe problem. “I don’t know why Floyd couldn’t take care of that. It’s notrocket science. I’ll come over later and hang the door for you.”

Front door

I’ll be damned if youwill!!

I hung that door back in the holes drilled and got an oldfashioned utility knife and shaved the inside of the door where it met the jamband wa-la, a screen door hung. I moved onto the back door. Planed the sides andhung the door. Both still need a bit of sanding on the bottoms to prevent theminute sticking, but they are hung and in operation daily. After all, it’s notrocket science!

Today, I finally hung the water hose holder. My goodness. Iused to be able to look at a hole or a screw or drill bit and know—2/3, 5/8,3/4—not anymore. Obviously, mechanical aptitude is a use it or lose it ability.It was going through siding and into cement block, so my neighbor said Idefinitely needed to use an anchor. He gave me cement drill bits to use andthen he and his wife hit the road—over-the-road truck drivers.

The holder got hung but it took me an hour. I must’ve madefifteen trips in for different size anchors, different size screws, forgot thehammer to get the anchor in, go back for a different size drill bit, drillagain, more anchors and more screws. Finally, I said fuck the anchors and usedthe heavy-duty screws. Solid! The worse part of this whole scenario was windingthe hose. How can you possibly forget how to wind a hose? By the time it wasover, my back hurt so bad I could barely make it back into the house. I won’tmention how I would’ve reacted if one of my kids hung a hose like that.

The Way to Spend a Day

2011-08-30T16:58:00.000-05:00

After years of sedentary life, almost complete inactivity, I must remind myself—or my body must remind me—to take it slow. Anyway, I’m not in a race any longer. I do not have to be busy every moment of every day. It’s okay to spend some time in pure, unadulterated contemplation of a sunset or the habits of feline, or how to make an ottoman. I’ve happily indulged in all.

Yesterday, I spent 1.5 early morning hours harvesting in the Feed Fannin garden. We brought in over 100lbs of peppers, of which I have a few. I picked green beans though, and there was at least 100lbs of those as well. Afterward, I came home, ate a light breakfast and proceeded to work in my yard. By then it was already 10:30 and far too hot in Georgia to work outside, especially in direct sun, especially if you are out of shape, as it’s already been determined I am. The remainder of the day was at my desk fixing computer problems.

This morning I rose early to proof some documents and get in my yard before the heat. I managed to get all the wood stacked in one place and some of the leaves and hickory nut shells raked. There are a lot of leaves and hickory nut shells. Moving it all closer to the compost pile. Once that is complete, I will chop that wood and ready it for cool evening fires.

Planned garden area

I’ve decided to grass-seed the yard and use the rear area of weeds for next year’s garden. It’s quite a large area and gets all-day sun. Next week, I’ll get a weed-eater and a rotor-tiller to go through there. I have plenty of brown material to mix in the soil, which I’ll need whether I decide on raised beds or straight land.

I’ve also decided on the meditation area to the right or south of the garden. That will be cleared with the rest and a willow tree will be the rear of the area. Further plans will be easier when it’s all cleared; however, I’m fairly sure that the permanent fire-pit will be in that area.

Planned meditation area

Two hours of that this morning—raking, dragging and piling wood, and meditation area contemplation. The shoulders and back had a good solid ache, and I’m sure (I hope) I lost a few pounds in all the sweating. Next was a hot shower and a poetry chapbook compilation started. I’d completed one over the weekend.

Tomorrow, I’ll do a bit more on all, including the contemplation.

Anyone care to come help? There's a guest room!!

A not-for-profit you should know

2011-08-24T08:16:00.000-05:00

The Neighborhood Writing Alliance's monthly newsletter:

Creative Resistance Release Reading, New Workshop Partnerships Announced.

On to the Outside

2011-08-22T09:44:00.000-05:00

Cleared a bit of land today. Now that unpacking is done and everything is pretty much in its place indoors, time to move outdoors and work on the "getting strong again" portion of this move. Keeping in mind that I am an out-of-shape city girl, so taking my time. Weeded the front flower garden first, then to the back yard(?).

This is the "before" pic.

This is the "after shot.

Can YOU see the difference? You can see the base of that back tree. The one big plant still in front, I left purposefully.

I believe this is sage. If it is, I'll definitely want to keep it.

And, I found my wild blackberry (or they may be raspberry) bushes that I'd seen when I first took the place in early July. Past harvesting time now but still want to know where they are. What a wonderful way to spend a morning.

The Consequences of Old Age Memory Loss

2011-08-21T14:22:00.000-05:00

I can’t even remember how long it’s been. I’m not talking about rolls in the hay or being falling down drunk. The last time for either of those rang absolutely no bells when they were fresh. I’m talking about putting something in the backpack, namely lunch, or maybe breakfast. By the time I pulled it out, there was no recognizing what it may have originally been, so, there’s no telling how long it’s been.

I’ve been literally on the road for months. I’ve found it necessary many times to throw a snack or even a meal in the backpack for sustenance later in the day. It could’ve been in June or early July when I was couchsurfing; it could have been the end of July when I traveled from Kenosha to Chicago for a day, although, given the decomposition, it was probably much longer than that.

Here’s the scenario: On Thursday last week I attended the Blue Ridge Poets and Writers workshop. Like many workshops, they were on hiatus for the summer, so an informal meeting was scheduled at a member’s home. Nice finger sandwiches, fresh fruit with cream cheese dip, carrot cake, and of course, sweet tea. We munch, sip, and talk awhile, then commence the workshop. I open my backpack for pen and paper and am overwhelmed with a flood of fish aroma. I do a quick perusal in the backpack and come up with nothing. I do a quick glance around the table but the faces don’t show any notice. Sadly, when there’s a room of women with fishy scents wafting through the air, there’s only one thought. Fortunately, there were no raised eyebrows or slanting glances trying to identify the culprit, so I supposed I’d closed up the backpack quickly enough, giving myself a mental reminder to check when I got home.

Ha, mental reminders are non-existent entities as one gets older. I love the saying, “Note to self,” but if I don’t actual, physically, write a note to self, the thought disappears into the atmosphere until it is revived by some unknown force, if ever. Today, three days later, I open the backpack for who knows what reason now, and am hit to almost nausea with that revived force—odor.

I begin to pull things out, notebooks, books, papers, pens, maps, etc., etc., until there in the very bottom is a baggie with what in it? I can’t even look. I pull it out, and are you ready, are you sitting down, this thing, this object that I’ve been carrying around on my back, again, for who knows how long, is crawling with maggots. You can scream and cringe now, because that’s what I did.

Of course, everything that had touched it either went in the garbage or got washed down with bleach. The bag was taken outside and hosed out. The thing, whatever it was, is tossed in the woods waayy across the road. As I sit here writing this, besides creepy crawling occasionally, I’m looking at all the stuff from the backpack—the clean stuff—sitting on the table and I’m still trying to remember what I went into the backpack for in the first place. Yes, there are consequences to old age memory loss.

The Buffalo Within

2011-08-20T16:13:00.000-05:00

Life moves in cycles, and I always kind of accepted the Seven Year Cycle philosophy, because whenever I took the time to reflect, it seemed as if major changes happened on, or at least very near, the seven year mark. I started writing this with the thought that lately it hadn’t exactly happened that way, however, again after mathematical reflection, I was wrong.

In 1996 my son went to prison, which I must say is a drastic life change, more so for the prisoner, but anyone who has had a loved one in prison knows you do the time with them. Also in 1996, I became involved with a man for the first time in a long time. Seven years later, 2003, my love interest was living in Florida and I started college—the first one in my family. My son was out of prison four years by then. In 2010—seven years—I put all my life’s accumulations into storage, moved into my daughters basement and tried to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I thought about teaching overseas and even got TEFL Certified, and I thought about just expatriating completely since America was not headed in the wrong direction but no direction at all. I reined myself in, refocused on my original dream from as far back as I can remember—retire to the mountains and write—and I went in search of the dream. That particular seven year life cycle has taken a full year to complete.

Another change I had made in 1996 was spiritual. I began to meditate and explore Native American spiritual traditions. I don’t believe I chose that particular path, I believe, for various reasons, that I was led to that path. The traditions, beliefs and practices came easily and felt natural. I remember that year, I was so calm and at such peace with myself and my space, that even the mosquito’s left me alone. Not one single bite, whether sand flies at the lake, or huge forest mosquito’s when hiking, not a bite.

At that time, I did a Medicine Card reading for myself to find my animal totems. After my son’s sentencing I had wandered around some campgrounds for several days and one morning woke to my hand around a fallen branch. This branch was in a complete circle, one end touching the other. It was the only tangible item I brought out of the woods that day. I used it to construct my personal Mandela with deerskin strung taut, beads and several found feathers. I performed the Medicine Card reading to incorporate my power animals into the Mandela.

One card is drawn from the deck for each direction: East, South, West, North, Above, Below, and Within, in that order. The significance of each is:

East: Greatest spiritual challenge. Guards your path to illumination

South: Protects the child within

West: Leads to personal truths and inner answers

North: Gives wise counsel and teaches thankfulness for blessings

Above: Guardian of the dream time

Below: Inner truth

Within: teaches how to find hearts joy and protector of your sacred space

My totems as drawn were:

East: Grouse reversed

South: Elk reversed

West: Owl

North: Butterfly

Above: Eagle

Below: Dog reversed

Within: Buffalo reversed

The reverse is when the medicine card appears upside-down, meaning the powers of that animal are being neglected or are contrary (in the current situation) to what they should be. So here are the meanings and powers of my totems:

In the East, my greatest spiritual challenge and guarding my path to illumination was the grouse reversed. The grouse represents the Sacred Spiral (pictured in skin painting above) that symbolizes personal vision and enlightenment. Reversed, the grouse means a dissipation of energy and a lack of control and discipline. This ‘still’ remains by greatest spiritual challenge.

In the South, my protector of the child within was the elk reversed. To natives, the elk represents stamina, and of course, reversed, represents a lack thereof.

My Western totem who will lead to personal truths and inner answers was the owl. In many cultures the owl symbolizes wisdom. Some natives call owl feathers “deceiver feathers” because they are silent. Owl medicine is magic medicine and helps me to see the truth of people.

In the North, giving me wise counsel was the butterfly which symbolizes transformation. I have been transforming constantly.

My Above totem who is the guardian of dream time was the eagle, who symbolizes the power of the Great Spirit and the connection to the divine. The eagle medicine constantly reminds me about that connection.

Below, the totem that represented my inner truth, was the dog reversed. Even in Western culture the dog symbolizes loyalty—“man’s best friend.” Reversed means a lack of that quality, primarily, loyalty to self. Particularly, in the position of inner truth!

The protector of my sacred space of the Within who will show me how to find my hearts joys was the buffalo reversed. Buffalo symbolizes abundance for it gave every inch of itself to the people for life. Reversed means having forgotten how to seek help and accept the abundance. This is the one I write about today.

When I created my Mandela I was hoping for a buffalo skull for the center position, the Within position. I had painted an eagle above and hung owl feathers I found along a hiking path. I’d also had a few butterflies that had died in their migration that year. Butterflies that had visited my campsite and fluttered in my hair, lighted on my knees, and sat on the edge of my breakfast plate. A very strange and wonderful experience. A buffalo skull was not so easy to find. My ‘boyfriend’ at the time who would later move to Florida, found a ceramic one for me. I tied it to the Mandela and hung it on my wall.

That Mandela followed me through several moves and life changing situations. One day in 2002, it just fell off the wall, breaking the buffalo skull in three pieces. For me, that meant that I had not only forgotten how to accept the abundance but I was completely blocked and shut off from any abundance. I felt that physically and emotionally for many years after.

It took me five years before I put the skull back together, but I just never had the energy to reattach it to the Mandela. The skull collected dust on a shelf and the Mandela hung naked on the wall. Until today. After unpacking and settling into my dream mountain home, I reattached the skull to the Mandela and it hangs whole on the wall to my right.

It is not complete though. It will never be complete because it represents my journey which has not ended yet. Next, I will paint mountains on it, blue ridge mountains, which are also a symbol of great abundance in the native tradition.

Did I Mention I Love Bluegrass?

2011-08-11T09:01:00.000-05:00

Did I mention I love Bluegrass? I think I did and am probably repeating myself, but at my age, I can do that.

On my second day in my new home, I left off unpacking and arranging to attend a Cajun Cookout at the Blue Ridge Pavilion. The Demijohn Varmints provided the entertainment, and while one young man looked as though he’d been in a losing battle with rabid varmint, their music was exciting—stimulating enough to get these feet and legs moving, tapping, and dancing. My second time in two months on a dance floor. This move south has really energized me.

The cookout was sponsored by the Democratic Party of Fannin County, GA, but there was no political message other than we can all play together—and we did. Not sure if there were any Republicans there, but one man did don a Confederate flag shirt for the occasion. He was fairly quiet, kept to himself, and leered over his plate, as if those damn Dems would steal it. We let him enjoy it though.

Everyone enjoyed the food and there was a lot of it. Cajun okra and tomatoes, Cajun carrot salad, Jambalaya, Cajun cornbread with a spicy kick, Cajun peas and onion with peach and blueberry cobblers for dessert. Oh, there were burgers and hot dogs for those who didn’t particularly care for a hot Cajun boost to the metabolism, but most took the plunge and blotted their brow while doing so.

I took my second drive in the dark on the mountain roads back to my country home, and it felt terrific. I have to remember to turn on the porch light though, because when the sun sets, it’s blackness all around. Thank goodness I’m a smoker because I had to use the lighter to fit the key in the door lock. I haven’t taken to leaving my door unlocked yet. That city habit is gonna die hard.

Since neither paper showed up to cover the event, I wrote up a little blurb for both accompanied with the pictures. Who knows, maybe I can pick up a little gig writing on spec for events such as these—Democratic events—that no one seems to care about. If not, that’s okay also. The goal is to write as much as possible be it poetry, fiction, or articles, and at some point to be so fitted in the groove that I will return to that novel. Right now, I’m frolicking in the inspiration sparked by Cajun food and Bluegrass. Did I mention I love Bluegrass? Good, ‘coz tonight is Pickin’ in the Park down around the corner, and I’ll be there.

The Last Hurrah

2011-08-08T19:39:00.000-05:00

While I mentioned previously that nothing went right when I was in Chicago, I did have some good times, with some terrific people. I got to ride the Metra and CTA again, which is always an experience. One of the experiences that is bittersweet. Long lines and long waits to board late, often dirty transports with hundreds of people will not be missed. Boarding transports of multi-ethnicities to arrive within mere steps of your destination anywhere in the metro area for pennies in comparison to gallons of gas, will be sorely missed.

Vanessa, the daughter I stayed with, lives in Kenosha, WI. just over the northern state line from Illinois. My son lives there as well, but he’s not much for pictures. Oftentimes, the state of my memory saddens me. I’d wanted to get pics of him and my two grandsons, Andre and Lenny, loading the truck, but the memory was napping during the work. The snapshots are in my brain though and hopefully I won’t lose them in some dusty back room of old age. They were a riot. Together, they played an excellent game of Tetris packing the trailer. One of my unloading helpers said, “Tell your son there may have been a bit of room to spray in some insulation, but nothing more.” It was a perfect score!

My oldest daughter, Kim lives in Chicago proper, in the Logan Square neighborhood. Us girls planned a day together with all the cousins in the city. We meant to take the Metra in, but there was no easy stop to disembark and purchase CTA passes, so we drove in and parked in a Dominick’s parking lot for the day, which is illegal, but if you don’t tell, I won’t tell. We caught the Clark St. bus, which is one of those streets that go from one end of Chicago to the other. We met up with Kim, her cousin, Ulisa at Lincoln Park Zoo. Her son Andre is 16 and far too old for the zoo with his 'little' cousins.

The kids had a blast running around, picnicking, and finding pictures of monkeys with Nana’s name. The sisters enjoyed being together and I was grins from ear to ear with the whole family, except my son. Even as adults, it’s always one or the other of the three who are not talking. This summer it’s Vanessa and Lenny. Last summer it was Kim and everyone. Before that, it was Kim and Vanessa. Hopefully, as they get older, they’ll come together—or get further apart. but, for this one day, I had mostly all.

After the zoo, we all got back on the bus and headed downtown to Chicago’s Millennium Park, a gorgeous area between the lake and Michigan Avenue. The attraction for the kids is Crown Fountain Waterfall. Water pours from gigantic transparent brick towers on either end of a reflecting pool. Digital video photography is displayed on each tower and every five minutes, the person videoed puckers his lips and the water spouts, then returns to a flowing waterfall. I’ve been taking the grandsons since it opened and they always have cool summertime fun in the hot city. We sat beside one waterfall and got a constant cool mist on the sunny, 90 degree day.

My next excursion was to the Printers’ Ball at Columbia College Chicago. This is an absolutely must do for book lovers, writers, and creative folks of all types. The theme this year was “It’s Alive!” There were zombies, face paintings, Ouija boards, beer, wine, food, and of course books, books and more books. All FREE!! My first year I left with a shopping cart full. I’m a bit more discerning now because you can definitely give yourself a hernia hauling away books. I saw friends from school since Columbia is my alma mater, and friends from the Neighborhood Writing Alliance who are also published writers in NWA’s Journal of Ordinary Thought, and friends from Chicago’s extensive poetry and literary scene. In three weeks, this was the only time I was inspired to write. I sat across the street in a little park and jotted a few lines: My Last Dance With Chaos. I think that says it all.

And then, of course, there was the great ice cream eating expedition to Scoops in Kenosha. I had a craving for a banana split for weeks and the one I got in Blue Ridge was more of a sundae. This, as you can see, was the real deal. Something else I'll miss, but not enough to stay. All in all, it was a good farewell.

Neighbors

2011-07-15T18:29:00.000-05:00

In case you haven’t followed me along my long and winding road, I live in a hollow on a round loop road. I’m a little less than half an acre and there are neighbors with the same. Six total. In the two weeks I’ve been here I finally saw a real live person. He’s the one down the road whose roosters wake me up every morning.

I’m sure you know the plan is to get chickens and hopefully a cow. I’ve been reading online about chicken care. Some folks have heated chicken coops for the winter. One person had a “poop hammock” and raised ceramic dishes for her chickens. My thought is that none of that stuff was available or even considered back in the 1800s. Chickens had a coop made out of boards, some hay to lay their eggs, water and scratch for feed. I figured my neighbor might be a good one to talk to about this.

Dave is his name and he breeds roosters. Before I go any further, and I’ll get pictures soon, I have to say these roosters were thick, shiny, loud (and I learned that if a rooster is loud and clear, it means his craw is healthy), and primping about. In other words, they were healthy. I held one and he was meaty, feathers were soft and full, even though this is their shedding season. Dave is also part of the Gaming Commission because he breeds, so he gets inspected.

Now, on to the coops. They are made from pallets, with some wire around them and tin roofing lay on the top. Their water is in plastic coffee containers and their ‘scratch’ is on the ground. He shovels the coops out once a week and worms the roosters once a month. He puts plastic over the coops in the winter. Simple and natural.

We talked about cows and how he would feel if I got one - would he mind it pasturing in his yard? I told him I’d pick up the manure because I’d want it for my garden. He said he wouldn’t mind but that I could also stake the cow, as long as I fed and watered him, he'd be healthy, no problem. Again, way back when, not everyone had a pasture, so many staked their cows. Maybe, I can sacrifice some of the back land for a small barn.

All in all, it was an intelligent and educational conversation. Even if he did look like Billy Ray Cyrus.

Eggplant Creation

2011-07-15T17:28:00.000-05:00

Here is what I "created" with the three lovely, just picked eggplants I was given this morning at the community garden. You can read all about it here GoodDay-July 15. Of course, it's supposed to be on this blog, but at least it's written and posted.

Anyway, back to the eggplant. I'm cooking on camping equipment, but not over a fire. I'm saving my wood for when the grandkids come down next week. After that, I will burn every chance possible. Sidetracked again! The eggplant. When I say I have minimal supplies and very basic, I mean MINIMAL—flour, sugar, cornmeal, salt, pepper, butter, bread, a couple eggs. That's it. All of my spices are in Kenosha and will be here next week. I don't want, nor can I afford to buy when I already have. So, salt and pepper.

The store is not at the corner here. I must drive 'into town'. Additionally, I guess because so many people grow their own, the fruits and vegetables here are outrageous. Which means, until I too, can grow my own, I purchase at the farmer's market on Saturdays. Today is Friday.

I sliced the half onion I had, sliced the eggplant in strips and sautéed. Next, I opened a Bowl of Noodles Kimchi, that I was living off of before getting my place, and emptied the seasoning packet into the pan. I chopped half a tomato and added two eggs. The result, I think, was stupendous.

The Musings or The Ravings

2011-07-08T20:28:00.002-05:00

I have been peeking through my hooded grayness without contribution, well, without much contribution. I've caught myself sinking slowly and must now summon the mighty laborer to hoist me out of the murky well.

Of course, the question of a new online friend about where do new people go, how they pop in, get acquainted, and then disappear, stung like an arrow. Another's answer of Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Friendship" was most welcome.

The new home is nice albeit empty, hollow without the stuff I've come to depend upon, mostly though, without my Rocky and Lola. Home is cold without a pets' warmth stretched beside.

I came to this place to live quieter and simpler, and to focus on writing. Sit on the deck, in the chair, in the woods behind the house, and write. I've found myself caught up in a new job that was kindly (?) given of which I didn't ask for. I've also fallen into the old routine of volunteer for this and volunteer for that. None of which was part of the plan or dream, and now I must extricate myself gently to retain the friendships made and build them along the lines of my proposed personality.

Strange, how easy it is to go right along doing what we know is not good for us only because we know it. I sit on the deck now and write, communicate with the new friends of the online writing circle I long to be part of, the circle that is the healthiest for me, because it is where I want to be.

Must keep this all in the forefront of this ever-running mind.

Settling into the Simpler Way of Life

2011-07-08T20:09:00.001-05:00

After spending a month on the side of a mountain, I was fairly confident that my house too, would be swarming with flying creatures—moths, mosquito’s, crickets—all banging at my windows in the evening. The first night I saw a few. Last night, the temperature went down to 68 overnight, so I decided to open the windows for some fresh mountain air while I slept. Only one window is missing a screen—soon to be none—so off went the central air. I opened all the windows, even going outside to find a few thick branches to hold open the ones that have broken springs—on brand new windows, hmm. The last one, I noticed the screen didn’t fit tight. I tried to fiddle with it, but it was after dark and I feared the creatures would shout the directions to open windows and lights, so I shut it. When I went back to close the other windows, I noticed only one screen really fit. Ah, so repair #1. This, even before installing screen doors, because I can live without open doors, but not without open windows. Thankfully, it’s been warm (read: HOT) enough to keep everything closed.

When shopping for the absolute necessities until I have my 'stuff', I looked for the eco-friendly bug spray, but they were out. I’m not crazy about even the eco-friendly spray however, I’ve not had the chance to plant the lavender that bugs hate, or the marigolds. I have plenty of coffee grounds to spread, but that’s for ants—and I have no ants. Since I’d not noticed too many, I’d hoped my citronella candles would work, so on the deck I was to check in with a writing group I’d neglected for a few days, do a few small stone blog posts, and work on last weeks Wordle. The citronella candle did not work.

So, I schlepped everything back inside and decided to take my first bubble bath. Poured in the peaches and cream bubbles, made a hot cup of chai, and grabbed “The Elegance of the Hedgehog”. Now, I’m a fairly large girl and the tub is deep, but narrow. There’s solutions for that: lose weight, which is part of the plan moving to the country—gardening, yard work, etc.—however, I doubt that I’m gonna narrow down that much that fast; another solution is to get a claw foot tub. I’ve seen a few give-aways, and it wouldn’t be much work, really. The tub is one of those plastic surround things, so just need to turn off the water and rip it out. Will probably have to redo the floor beneath and the wall, but, hey. Bathtubs are important. I can leave the shower as is and just get a circular curtain rod. That’s all in the future though. At the moment, the bubbles were rising and the tea was steaming.

Having been large for awhile, I’m well versed in how to keep a hot tub of water. Once it starts to drain out of the overflow, I run more hot water, and shazam, full tub. This one never seemed to get to the overflow. Besides the fact that the water faucet handle is in the middle of the wall, meaning I had to stand up to turn it off and stand up to turn it back on. The water just seeped and seeped. Solution: one of the flat, rubber plugs. Is that Repair #2 or #3? Ah well, stand up, turn the water on and be done with it—for now. Research #1: find out the size of the water heater, because one tub full and that was it. Washed (with lovely cucumber and mint soap from a far away friend), shaved my legs, and rinsed in a tablespoon of water.

Settling into the simpler way of life.

Fourth of July Celebration 2011

2011-07-04T16:52:00.000-05:00

Today was a fairly good day, especially this morning. Lisa, my couchsurf host, and me moved the dining room set and armchair her mother gave me into the new house. I walked around outlining what would go where when all my other stuff came. We talked about planting hostas under the walnut tree, creating a little meditation area in back with a pond, rocks, and plants. An area to see in the shade and read or write or just breathe.The cats are gonna love all the squirrels from that walnut tree--once they get over their trauma from another move, and a 12 hr one at that.

I plan to lay wood flooring in a few months and we talked about doing a section of tile in the kitchen area since an open floor plan. I’d much rather have tile than wood floor in the kitchen, never was too crazy about that.

The bathroom is blue, which can be changed if I choose to, when money is available, but for now I went white. White country-lace shower curtain, and white with blue cornflowers ceramic accessories. Looking for a white rag rug but only found those fluffy, poufy things, and that is so not the style.

Once it cools just little bit so I can stand walking around the flea market, the one in Ranger, NC is HUGE! I can get all my garden tools there and a stainless steel rack for linens. A few metal wind-chimes as well—the really cool handmade ones from metal tubing, copper tubes, etc. They had red geraniums—my favorite—for $1 each. There are absolutely tons of thrift stores around here, all of which the proceeds go to some charity or another. I love thrift stores.

Still not sure if I even want to hook up the television. I’ve been getting a lot more writing down without its influence. I may just have to store in a closet for future reference. I can always watch a movie on Netflix (just watched Chattahoochee, based on a true story about a mental health hospital in Florida—good), and I get most of my news online anyway. So…

Another thing I’m not sure of is getting another sofa. The futon will go in the office/guest room along with most of the bookcases. I think I’d like to keep the open spaces. Add a lot of plants instead of a lot of furniture. It’s not like kids will be visiting regularly. I’ll be lucky if I see them once a year now, and the guest room will be plenty for when the grandkids visit. Maybe a loveseat with the armchair—I think that’s plenty. It’s a blue floral print, so possibly a solid blue loveseat. Although, I’m thinking of painting the one wall a deep maroon or mauve. Can you tell I’m getting excited?

More than like I will do a raised garden bed so then I don’t have to worry too much about getting the red Georgia clay nutrient ready for planting. Feed Fannin actually has “gardens-to-go”, so maybe I could get a few from them. One would probably be plenty for what’s left of this planting season. A few beans, lettuce, radishes, onions winter crops, but that’s it until next year, so I have time to decide. One of the first things though is a chicken coop. Can’t really do free range because the foxes will have a feast.

Slow and easy it what I have to remind myself. Talk to folks about my plans and see if there’s any give-aways before I go broke buying all kinds of stuff. Have to join the local trout fishing club so I can find all the hot spots for fishing. Saw quite a few rabbits running around so there’s a few meals. Definitely need a freezer because I plan on hunting.

The dream is coming together and the universe is conspiring, so the sky is my limit.

The back view


The front view

My road

InSync

2011-07-01T18:26:00.000-05:00

Today, the universe winked at me once again.

The past few days, as noted in the previous post, have been bungee-cord jump experiences. The extremes of highs and lows have exhausted me.

This morning I sat on the banks of the white waters again, and with the soothing sound of the ripples and its calm, sure movement over boulders, I managed to get a bit of work done, an article posted, and a small stone written. After that, which was approximately 12:30, nerves and energy began the sloughing descent to incapacity.

Of course, since I always figure nutrition is the best remedy, I went to dinner. By the time I was finished, a fever commandeered the show. I couldn’t make it to the 4^th of July float decorating for Feed Fannin without making a pit stop—the closest being the newspaper office.

As I was leaving, heading not to decorate a float rather my bed, the owner, Elaine, pulled up from the post office and handed me a package from Chicago. I nodded my head and floored my big 350 toward the mountainside where I get no phone service.

When I arrived, first thing was pajamas—mind you at 4pm. Then, cross-legged on the bed, I opened my Chicago package. The lovely ladies at the Neighborhood Writing Alliance—Carrie, Hollen, and Rachael—had sent me a box full of Sedaris, Lahiri, Robbins, Barbery, Dahl, and the complete first season of Da Ali G Show, a couple of hardback writing journals, and, here’s the best, nothing better for an upset stomach, jagged nerves, homesickness and homelessness than (drum roll please) homemade Chai tea and a copy of Bitch Magazine. If only the bees had worked a bit faster and I could’ve gotten some of Carrie’s fresh honey, but seriously, I am ecstatic.

I have never been so in sync with the universe. Smile on ME!!

Goodnight Moon!

Chicago Native comes to the mountains--and finds home

2011-07-01T12:50:00.000-05:00

Rantings, Ravings, and Good energy

2011-06-30T18:51:00.000-05:00

In the last two days, I’ve been insulted and slandered more than I can remember. In both instances, I say it was because people assumed something without clarifying, but then maybe, they didn’t want to clarify. What the incidents have verified for me is that I am on the right path. These weren’t roadblocks, merely stumbling stones—the universe inquiring if I am certain about where I am and where I’m going.

The first was over our late, great Governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich. I’ll readily admit that my opinion on his issue is not the popular one. I don’t believe Hot Rod was guilty of anything other than “talking shit.” He paid no money or favors, and no one took money or favors for Obama’s Senate seat. He talked a good game, but that was it. I liken the whole scenario to “MinorityReport” with Tom Cruise where people are arrested, charged, and sentenced for their thoughts. Blago went one step further and put his thoughts into words, hence conspiracy. A charge which carries a long sentence that can be applied to anything and everything, and in our justice system, is used frequently.

I suppose that was where my first problem arose—speaking an opinion that is not the popular one. Then, when I trounced on the theory of “a jury of my peers”, it turned ugly. In stating that many people were imprisoned, some executed, because the prosecution presented and persuaded better than the defense; also that the justice system is broken and corrupt I was met with “only x amount of people have been wrongly convicted over x number of years.” I was met with “it’s better for one innocent person to go down than for one guilty to go loose.” When I addressed all of these issues, I was likened to a FoxNews Pundit and Glenn Beck—arguing in circles. The statements were made and I responded. All of the issues, as most, are interconnected, leading one to another. The justice system has no justice in it; it is broken and unfair; and how dare someone who has never had a family member or loved one wrongfully convicted and/or executed say “only”?

So you see here, we started with Hot Rod in a broken justice system and we ended in a broken justice system. How is this circular? Ahh, I was then asked for my alternative “wisdom lost to our forefathers.” I responded with the question: “Do you really think the system, as it is today, is what our forefathers created or had in mind?” Of course, my alternative is to not waste my tax dollars on trumped up charges of BS on telephones or getting a blow job in your office. Of having fair and distinct laws so a Metra cop who shoots and kills a young, unarmed man in LA doesn’t get 6 months, while lost and confused young men on the streets are sentenced to life or executed. My alternative is that we should have mental health and addiction treatments instead of incarceration. THAT, was not an answer I was readily informed. Also, the system is different now than from our founders because we evolve. OK, so what lost wisdom from our forefathers were they looking for? I pose the question to the universe because I am at a loss. Was that not a circular question? Could I have ever gotten an “A” and that one?

I have to explain that the grit of this argument was not even with the original poster of “Yay, Blaga got convicted.” This was a friend of that friend. Seems the original felt I dismissed her opinion when I gave mine. Why is this such an issue today, everywhere? People can have differences of opinions. People SHOULD be able to debate those differences of opinions. If you can speak your opinion, I can as well. One doesn’t automatically negate the other. Oh, but it gets better for this “armchair politico”, a phrase coupled with the FoxNews Pundit.

Oh, it's a busy day being the armchair politico I've been labeled. Out to the meeting of community gardeners who feed the county to propose a garden poetry workshop with the kids who just planted their first garden at school. So not involved am I!! Peace out!

My Facebook post for the morning. Cool, right? I was so very excited to be a part of such a worthy organization as Feed Fannin that contributes not only food, but education on how to feed yourself. Isn’t that a Christian proverb or something? I will explain here that I am being sarcastic. Sarcasm seems to fall heavy on some ears, so I just wanted to put it out there—it’s sarcasm! As was my post. Sarcastic. I am very involved, have been very involved, try hard to get out of my armchair. Unfortunately, that was not the complaint this time.

I was asked why I would move to an area where I found such humor in the inhabitants; where I felt it necessary to be condescending and a blowhard; where I belittled the folks in that area and acted as though they were stupid because they had an accent.

W.T.F.

Where was all that harvested from my post about garden poetry with kids? Of course, I was quickly de-friended before I could respond. Thankfully. I probably would’ve only gotten into another one of those circular, FoxNews Pundit, Glenn Beck arguments, and be blamed for it. I did send an email explaining my post but the response was that most of what she’s read on my blogs and Facebook has been condescending and insulting to Southerners. Hm.

None of it really matters in the grand scheme.

The idea of garden poetry workshops with the elementary school kids was received with excitement, enthusiasm, and gratitude. We’ll combine the poetry with recipes from the old-timers in the area who are being interviewed, and compile all into a cookbook that can be sold at the local farmer’s market to benefit the Feed Fannin organization that helped the kids plant the garden in the first place.

Another of the members who will work with me on the project is ReLeah Cossent Lent, the author of Adolescents on the Edge with Jimmy Santiago Baca. For me, this is a celebrity. She travels and does workshops with Jimmy and teenagers—creative writing workshops.

Yes, the path is correct. I have left (not really, only physically) the Neighborhood Writing Alliance whose motto is “Every Person Is a Philosopher" to work with a partner of Baca, who says “Literacy is freedom and everyone has something significant to say.”

This good, vibrant energy dispels all the negative.

Conspiring Universe

2011-06-29T16:29:00.000-05:00

There is the dream, you are the words, you merge them together and you have the book. Are you sending manuscripts yet, writing your books yet, living your dreams yet?

Am I living my dream yet? For me, the question is always, “Are you allowing yourself to live the dream yet?” Let me say first that my dream has always been to retire to the mountains and write. This is my laptop background to remind me. I posted on another blog that there is always the ‘but’. So, in answering the first, I could say yes, I’m living my dream, but…

I’m sitting on a deck nestled in the treetops of Godfrey Mountain in the Blue Ridge Mountains writing this blog post, but it isn’t my deck; but I’m not writing my novel.

I have found a home that looks out to the forest in front and back, but I haven’t figured out a way to financially move my stuff there yet.

My new small home-town of 1200 has its own Arts Association where maybe I could teach creative writing but I haven’t visited yet because I need to settle first.

This same small towns has an adult education facility where maybe I could teach ESL or GED classes but I’ve not visited yet because I need to settle first.

I’ve been in this small town for a month now.

I have two ¼ time jobs to pay the bills while I write but…

Every moment with every thought I must swat at that incessant but and remind myself that yes, I am living my dream. I must constantly fence with the encamped capitalist who shakes her coiffed and painted head, waggles her lacquered nail and says, “But what do you have? But how are you living? But what are you driving? But, but, but…”

The duels are less frequent now and I am less bloody. I’ve found that I cannot argue, cannot rationalize, cannot stand toe-to-toe with this sword wielding Barbie wanna-be. I used to say: “But I have everything I need; but I enjoy my home; but my vehicle is paid for; and when she’d slice below the belt with “but you’re all alone”, would quickly counter with, “but I enjoy my solitude.” They were hollow shots that ricochet off her fencing mask and reverberated my rusty sword with a twang to the heart.

The duels end much quicker now when I ignore the slashing and whipping of wind. And they are easier to ignore now that I am in the midst of my dream. When I look out over the treetops at the mist lingering in the forest canopy instead of leaning over a city porch above steaming dumpsters, her buts disintegrate into the whispers of the leaves.

It was the forward movement toward the dream that made the difference. She is not silenced, not yet, maybe she never will be, but at least she is muzzled and muffled.

What are your buts? In what ways do you battle with that internal warrior? What steps have you made toward your dream?

Write your dream in one sentence. For example: Retire to the mountains and write.

Not: A three bedroom home with 2 baths and hardwood floors on 5 acres of land with barns, pasture and horses, A white wrap-around porch with blue flower-cushioned wicker chairs and swings, and a manicured lawn. Retire to the mountains and write. Anything else can be added.

The dream is:

Then listen to your heart and take the first step, which is always the hardest. Just move without leaving time for the internal warrior to even prepare for battle. “When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it.” The Alchemist

Pickin' Home

2011-06-25T12:23:00.001-05:00

Pickin’in the park! Many people who think they know me will be surprised that I was even interested, let alone that I thoroughly enjoyed it and almost danced. It’s an every Thursday thing at Horseshoe Bend Park in McCaysville, and I plan to make it a weekly event. Right alongside the Toccoa River where people paddle or tube by, fishermen wade in and sling fly poles for river trout and people of all ages grill or just picnic while the pickers pick.

I have to admit I have always loved Bluegrass and I even sang along to the old time gospel tunes. Then I walked down to the next pavilion and even more musicians were jammin’ away with real foot-stompin’ music. I couldn’t keep my feet still and my hands clapped happily until one older gentleman motioned me up several times.

“Oh, no. I don’t know how.”

“She’ll teach ya,” he responded, pointing to his wife.

Soon, very soon, I will learn mountain dancing.

Many of you have followed my travels and my search for a home. Many have seen the photo of the farm I was looking at and it IS lovely, however it is a rental. Most importantly, it doesn’t have a bathtub. This may be a small thing to some, but it was the deal breaker for me. Since it was a rental, I couldn’t do any modifications, so I would be living for years without a tub. Can’t do it.

I have found a home though. And it will be MINE. It’s obviously smaller than what I’ve been looking at but I can add because it’s MINE. Plan to add onto the porch so that it wraps around and add a fireplace and another room. All in good time, my pretty, all in good time—coz’ it’s MINE. It’s a cute little 2 bedroom on ¾ acres—which I’ve found is plenty—where I can have my chickens, a cow, and a nice size garden.

It’s one of six homes on a dead-end gravel road. Its several hundred wooded acres across the gravel road and wooded acres behind. One way in and one way out. Completely secluded BUT not isolated. This was quickly becoming a concern as I looked at houses on the side of mountains, in the middle of forests, without people for miles. What if something happens? Additionally, neighbors, across a fence are not a bad thing.

6.24.11 (Middle Ground)

Sharing secrets over the picket fence

Neighbors become closer

Choosing to embrace differences

Sharing memories, encouraging futures

~Jules Paige on Writing Our Way Home

So, the move date is July 8. Heading back to Chicago, load up my storage unit, pickup my cats from my daughter’s, and heading south for good. It’s been destined. Everything just fell into place in its proper timing; I just moved over and let it happen.

Once it’s all settled, I can then check with the Blue Ridge Arts Association about writing workshops, check with FLAGG for the same, get knee deep involved with the community gardening organization Feed Fannin, and the Blue Ridge Humane Society. Number one priority is to sit on that porch and write, write, write. The dream is unfolding now that I’ve chased it down!!

Another really cool thing about the location of this house is that it is right around the corner from all the stuff I started this post with. Actually, a 5 minute drive to go pickin', tubin' and fishin'.

Tourist Towns

2011-06-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

So yesterday, I headed north to McCaysville, Ga. to stop at two places about advertising in their local newspaper. The one, IGA, is a grocery store, and you'd think they'd want to advertise in their local paper, so that the local residents would know their sales. I talked to the owner once and have yet to get her live, no matter how many times I drive the 15 miles to McCaysville.

Just like Blue Ridge, McCaysville is in Fannin County and also on the Toccoa River (which is also the Ocoee River around the corner) where lots of white water rafting takes place. Lots of white water rafting companies up and down the highway. McCaysville's "main street" is full of cute little boutiques, BBQ joints, and souvenir shops. Alas, none of which is for the locals.

I started out yesterday early because I wanted to make the trip north then come back and hit some stores in Blue Ridge. 8:30am I pulled out of the 90 degree driveway onto Highway 5--which was totally empty--at 8:30am. This is nice coming from Chicago where traffic is bumper to bumper at that time, and crowds of people huddle at corner bus stops and on train platforms. Yes, it is nice and yes, it's what I was looking for coming south, but really, it is quite disconcerting. Especially, if you're attempting to do business--or eat breakfast.

Breakfast was my plan because I knew I was in a slow-start area. What the tourist towns fail to realize is that there are people who live in these areas, people who require services just as the tourists, and it would be nice if we (the locals, of whom I am now one) could get some service before 11 or 12 when the tourists roll out of their mountain cabin rentals. I stopped to ask the souvenir guy and he rattled off a couple names, and then quickly corrected himself that they were closed.

"There's the American Diner down the road, but you want a sit down?"

Well, yeah that's what I had in mind. Fifteen minutes and 20 miles later, I got to sit down at Hardees in Ducktown, Tn. By the time I’d eaten, drove back to stop at those places, talk to folks who aren’t the least bit interested in advertising for the locals, I got back to Blue Ridge just in time for lunch—so of course no one wanted to talk business. I don’t know if I’m still internally on Chicago time or if the days here are just shorter. The work days!

Today, I chose to walk around downtown Blue Ridge (90+ degrees with 90+ humidity percentage and no breeze) to stop in at all their cute little boutiques for the tourists. They also were not the least bit interested in advertising for the locals. Do the locals not want to know what your lunch and dinner specials are? Do they not want to know the hours of the used book store, or the music store? Here’s one I don’t understand at all: the feed store, certainly the locals want to know all about this store. Maybe they do, but no one has told the owners yet that it would be beneficial to advertise in the local newspaper.

In the city, not doing print advertising is understandable—everyone uses the internet. This just isn’t so in this small town of 1200 people. Very few have computers let alone internet, and everyone loves their newspaper. How to convince the store owners? They’re locals. Tomorrow I will make follow up calls—a few. Afterward, we’re doing exciting stuff, meeting with old timers to get their stories and some recipes. Recipes are my idea. They will go together nicely with the garden poetry I hope to get from the elementary students at their community garden project. Put it all together in a homey cookbook that can be sold at the farmers market to benefit Feed Fannin. My idea. Pretty good, huh?

Tonight, the temps have dropped, the wind is rustling the leaves, and I’m blogging to document my journey so that I can compile all with some kitschy pictures in a personal essay anthology. Yay me! I'm also hoping I can keep the bedroom windows open without a bunch of little creepy, crawling and flying little critters making their way through the screens. I already hear them tap, tap, tapping.

The Houses, the People, the Place

2011-06-18T20:21:00.000-05:00

This past week has been a roller coaster ride. My last blog post, in my opinion, dripped with complaint. However, it is my blog which I’m obviously using as a diary for the world to read, so what you see is what you get.

Part I: The Houses

Monday, I looked a house listed as a mortgage assumption with the mortgage being $635 monthly—right in my budget. When they gave me directions, they said, “After the blue house, there is a cement driveway that turns to stone—that’s us.” As I passed the “blue house,” next house I saw, with a cement drive that turned to stone, was one of those million dollar mountain homes that I wanted nothing to do with, so I drove passed. On second thought though, I turned around because, after all, it was a mortgage assumption. I drove up to the house and no one was home, so it couldn’t be the one. I came out and found another drive that fit the description. Not only did the drive turn to stone, it actually turned to an overgrown trail—I’ve been on these a lot lately—so I slowed and wondered. Two people were strolling on the path, so I asked them about a house up there. They didn’t know for sure but, “there very well could be another house back there somewhere.” Uh-oh, I was on another round-the-mountain road, but I kept going. Thankfully, I did.

The house is in the Wolf Creek area of Murphy, NC and it’s a gorgeous cabin with a Jacuzzi. The Jacuzzi is not the selling point, the spring fed water system is, and the wood burning fireplace, and the ready-built fire-pit in the backyard circled by green wrought-iron furniture (that will stay), and the secluded but not isolated location. These are the selling points, and the current owners.

They had a dream much like mine. They wanted a place for their grandchildren to visit and learn a simpler way of life; grow a small, self-sufficient farm with chickens, and goats for milk. She is an artist who painted murals on the walls and makes jewelry. They were dropping off the grid but unfortunately, the financial crisis is dumping them off instead. He became disabled and she lost her job after only 4 years in their dream home. I want this home for them. I want to continue to pursue my dream in the atmosphere of theirs, so something will come to pass. We finally found the person I need to talk to for the assumption and I will fax over paperwork this Monday with hopes and prayers for dreams.

Tuesday, I went to look at a house that was left to the organization Feed Fannin. Again, this was a perfectly quaint little house with a full screened-in front porch, complete with rockers. There were four 2x10 raised garden beds that the previous owner harvested enough to feed himself through the winter and donate to the organization which feeds Fannin County families. My offer, for a land contract with no down-payment, was that I would create two more raised beds and donate both to Feed Fannin. I would also donate all of my services—website design, educator services, grant writing services, grant research services—everything and anything I could do. My hope was that since the previous owner had been a close friend of the organizers, that who got the property and what they did with it would be as important as the dollar. The house has been on the market for 4 years with the price going from $120K to $68K. I offered $80 with my conditions. If the house doesn’t sell them hoping I come into some money.

Thursday, I looked at a rental. A horse farm with a stone front porch, also complete with two white rockers. Plenty of room for a good sized garden, chickens, a barn for the cow and pasture for it to graze. Additionally, it came pretty furnished, which I’m not exactly thrilled with, except for the washer and dryer. They house is wood heated only, but the owners are planning to put in a furnace this winter. As I walked around, I spotted perfect places for peonies and lilacs, a willow out by the pasture fences, with some cherry and apple trees along the drive. But, what if the owners didn’t want or like peonies, lilacs, and cherry and apples trees? And, just think of moving again, only this time needing to find a place that takes chickens and cows. Ah, rentals but if push comes to shove—if the assumption falls through, and the non-profit doesn’t have a change of heart in the next few days—then rental it is. The good thing is that it is a 3-5 year lease. Anything could happen in that time.

Part II: The People

Elaine, the owner of the Fannin Sentinel, sent me an email Wednesday night asking if they could use the truck to move furniture donations she’d received for the Alzheimer’s Yard Sale Fundraiser and of course I agreed. After I met with the realtor on the rental Thursday morning I met Elaine and Lisa at the office. She bought us lunch and I had a delicious walnut salad. Mm-good. Then I tried to hand Elaine the keys to the truck. Five hours and two trips later we were almost done. Yes, we, her-a 68 yr old, and me, 54, moved 2 TVs, 3 microwaves, 2 dining room tables, 6 dining room chairs, a toddler bed mattress, and a carpet. The last trip, for whatever reason, the tailgate wouldn’t go down, so everything was lifted up and over, in and out. Elaine is an excellent taskmaster. She works you, drives you, and works you some more with nothing but a smile and soft words. She’s good—real good!!

After it was over she handed me a small wad of money and when I asked her what it was for, she said, “I told you.” I’ve found that Elaine says that a lot. Sometimes she has told you, and then sometimes she hasn’t, but according to her, she always has. This time she had. Originally I told her I didn’t want to work full-time (ever again), and that I would sell ads for the paper on commission only, and write articles on spec. Monday, she came into my office and said, “I can’t let you work for commission only. You can work part time but I’m going to give you $100 week plus the commission.” Then she turned around and walked out. Well, after five hours of manual labor, this little lady treated herself to a hotel room with a large tub and cable TV, potato chips and dip. That was my Friday night.

Saturday morning, I slept in, lounged around, picked up the complimentary breakfast and came back to lounge some more. Check out time was 11, and I left at 11:05. When I pulled up at the Alzheimer’s yard sale I was promptly informed that Elaine was looking for me. No one knew for what and no one had her cell #, so I headed downtown to the Corvette show I knew she was covering. I met her as she was leaving and asked if I’d forgotten something. She informed me we needed to get the rest of the donations and when I said I thought her and her husband had planned to do it last night, she said, “I told you…” You can’t say no to this woman. Two hours later we had moved a wooden seating bench, a painting, the full toddler bed, and a blue floral print winged armchair that again “is yours.” This is why you can’t say no—she’s a taskmaster with an oversized heart.

Part III: The Place

So after a restful rise, a labor-full morning, and a fruitful hour at the farmer’s market, I headed over to the Corvette show. Blue Ridge does more fundraisers than I’ve ever seen. From what I can tell, there are very few government programs here, but the people give and give and give. The Corvette show was a fundraiser for the town Arts Center, which is highly functional. There’s a community theatre, a children’s theatre, as well as painting, sculpting, music and writing programs. All of this in a “city” with a population of 1,210; inside a county of 23,000.

The week has been a rollercoaster. I’m technically still ‘homeless’ but that should be completely changed no later than July 1, which is really right down the road a piece. If someone would’ve said last week, it would be July 1, I might have choked, but this week, it’s all good. I sat on the deck writing this until a strong wind brewed up a mighty storm. Now, I’m inside finishing while the big ole red disk sets in the distance and the trees are draped in blue mist. Life is good.

And nothing like a good stroll down memory lane. I once drove off from Addison rocks at Chicago's lakefront with a big, long-haired, bronzed-body blonde in a 'Vette just like this. Mm-good!!

Slip Sliding Away

2011-06-14T17:55:00.000-05:00

I’ve not written much because I guess I’ve let stress take a strangle hold. Often that happens when you’re flying pretty high—the top branches kinda stall out the engine when they get tangled in the propeller. It’s a conscious effort to remember that whatever happens is for some unknown and unforeseen reason, and that I’m in exactly the place I’m supposed to be.

That place is here—

and if it isn’t a mountaintop, someone needs to rework the driveway. Here is owned by a terrific woman, Lisa Gagnon, I met through couchsuring.org. She opened her house for as long as I need it, and has even hooked me up with a job, and introduced me to tons of townsfolk who are just lovely. Susie Homemaker she is not—but then neither am I—are you? Some of us are or are not to varying degrees. It is this variance that not only distinguishes us from each other, but determines our level of homemaking endurance. With three dogs and a teenager with several friends, Lisa has made me realize I’m at the other end of the endurance pendulum. But hey, I’m living here for free (or semi) so I can’t complain.

The semi portion of the living expenses is primarily food or the cooking area of said food. Suffice it to say, I’ve found it necessary to eat out mostly, which cuts into the house savings, which feeds into that stress strangle hold. I find myself taking frequent deep breaths of mountain air and staring wistfully into the blue tinge of the mist so that I can imagine my dreams’ image etched into the slate. “You know the nearer your destination, the more you’re slip sliding away.”

I went to look at a mountain cabin listed on Craigs List. Can you see the difference? There is not one slat or log in this home that is treated. OK, I know I’m looking for the ‘natural’ or ‘organic’ lifestyle, but I believe there are natural and organic treatments that will hinder termites, ants, spiders, mice, ticks, and all other living, flying, crawling creatures from nesting deep into the wood of your home. I may be wrong and if I am, I need again to readjust my sites—but I don’t think so.

The logs on the outside were the logs on the inside and they were all deep, rich, warm, and very, very dark. The bathroom was huge and opened onto the back deck. The kitchen was as large as the bathroom—take that however you like. When you opened the front door you were at the bottom of the stairs going up—immediately. The windows in the bedrooms were half windows at the top of the room, allowing in very little of whatever light there was beneath the forest canopy. I WANT my house beneath a forest canopy to alleviate heating and cooling costs, but windows are mandatory. Am I asking too much?

Put aside the house, the living, the eating and look out for the important things in life, right. So, Friday night was the American Cancer Associations’ Relay for Life at the downtown park. I went as part of the Fannin Democrats. Yeah, Democrats in Georgia. And let me tell you, some people took wide berths around our booth, some rolled their eyes, and some shook their heads. Yeah? Democrats in Georgia?

The theme for the evening was Carnivale, so the Fannin Democrats did a cake wheel. My hostess, Lisa, baked five; total we had 11 cakes we sold at $1 chances. I learned this morning that $200 was made for the AMA from just the cakes. I wouldn’t know. I left.

It was a 24 hr event with food, games, and music, and I lasted 2 hours. The temperature had been 95 with 70% humidity all day (and I’d been out and about selling ads for the newspaper), and when evening came, it was still 93. Not only couldn’t I walk around the park to support the cancer survivors, I couldn’t walk around carrying a cake announcing the wheel either. I was exhausted. Additionally, the spiders spinning down from the trees and the little gnats whizzing all over me was just more than I could do. Once again, yes nature, and yes, deal with the bugs. For one, no hairspray or perfume; plant natural bug repellants, like marigolds or lavender. Particularly if this is the city park. Help make your citizens comfortable in using the public facilities. Again, am I asking too much?

I look back on my past posts and then re-read this and there is absolutely a different tone. I am not disillusioned. I think all can be adjusted to and dealt with and it would ALL be so much better if I had a home. The tone will swing back around soon, I can feel its return, but for now, deal with it. Oh, and by the way, I AM taking care package donations of whatever you’d like to send.

Donna Kiser
c/o Fannin Sentinel
29 State St.
Blue Ridge, GA 30513

p.s. This is where I am currently writing this. Can it get any better? Uhhh, you tell me.

p.s.s. This is my hostess--just LOOK at that smile.

The Constant

2011-06-11T18:11:00.003-05:00

A truck tire swings from the low branch of a magnolia tree, awaiting the laughter of small boys returned from a slow afternoon of creek fishing. An apple pie cools on the window sill while chicken pieces crackle in hot grease, and biscuits stay warm beneath a yellow-checkered towel.

White lace curtains sway in a southern breeze scented by apple and cherry blossoms. The white rocking chair creaks on the white porch beside a hanging swing-seat cushioned in a rose covering. Chickens scratch lazily in the dirt and a milking cow lows softly from the barn.

It is so close I can almost touch it, this dream. The smells tickle my nose and the sights tear my eyes. It’s not a new dream. The mists roll in off the mountains and whisper to my senses. I have never, not known this place that wavers at the edges of my consciousness. My name has lingered on its winds and through its rustling leaves until I could no longer deny the calling.

It’s there, just beyond my fingertips. What keeps it from my grasp? I write to quiet the voices, and I chase this dream to still the images that race and disturb reality. Soon, they will merge and create certainty. Or is it mere fantasy?