Claudsy’s Blog: Fresh Views

Bridal Veil Trail Photo Credit: Meena Rose

Bridal Veil Trail
Photo Credit: Meena Rose

One of the things that make travel so exciting is seeing new views; panoramas abound within each landscape and usually hole something for everyone.

I wonder if that’s why window-shopping is so appealing to women and not men. No matter.

When you put two senior women in a small car packed with gear, most anything is possible as well. And that’s how it’s been for us this past week. We’ve seen waterfalls that could stop the heart with their beauty (i.e. Multnomah Falls, Horsetail Falls, and several others.)

The mighty Columbia River never fails to make its presence felt. Windsurfers, para-sailors, kayakers, cruise ships, and sailboat enthusiasts all use the waters for their fun and entertainment. Dams and locks, fish ladders and fisheries break up the surface of the river for the power and the life of those who depend on the river’s use.

Yep, we’ve been a few places along The Dalles. We’ve enjoyed the cold-water showers from on-high, and camped among the forests lining the river.

A quick trip north into Washington had us camping among old growth stands of lodge pole pine, Western White Cedar, and various under story trees in the Millersylvania State Park. Erecting a tent onsite there reminded me of camping among the redwoods in northern California two decades ago. The same sense of serenity flowed from the roots of the monumental trees to spread throughout the confines of the campground. The small lake’s still waters waited for fishermen and canoe paddles alike.

Visits with family and friends kept us occupied until yesterday when we moved south again to the Portland, OR area to meet with more friends and family. From here we’ll move to the coast tomorrow and find new adventures.

How much longer will we be on the road? We honestly don’t know, other than the fact that we’ll be home sometime before the end of the month. Like everyone else, much depends on time, weather, finances, and how we feel physically. Allergies are trying to get the best of us. Everything is in bloom along the coast at the moment, which makes breathing an interesting proposition in its own right.

So, there you have it; my first official report from the camping trenches. We’re having issues with the laptop, too, which makes reporting difficult.

Take care, all, and have some fun of your own on these lovely early summer days. Until later, a bientot,

Claudsy

On the Road Again

Foot Road

On June 3rd, Sister and I packed up the car and hit the road for a small vacation. Planning had taken a couple of months, saving had taken a few more, and anticipation had us rearing to go.

It’s been a week since we left and how we’re nearly halfway through our time away. We’ve been through Columbia Gorge and its sights. We explored Millersylvania State Park in Western Washington and visited with friends and family. Today we returned to Oregon for further adventures.

We’re spending a few days with Meena Rose and her family. That circumstance makes the entire trip worthwhile for us in many ways. There will be enough time for laughter, long talks, and the occasional game or two.

After we leave Meena Rose to her work and family, we’ll go west to the coast for Sister’s photog opportunities of surf and sunsets. We’ve been looking forward to the beaches for weeks now and have no intentions of skimping on our time there. We’re heading to Ft. Stevens near Astoria for our first beach scene, just in case any of you wanted to do some anticipation of your own.

Yes, we have much yet to see and investigate and plenty of time to do it. All we need to do is make sure to watch the pennies so the dollars will take care of themselves.

I hope all of you who have plans for getting away this summer have as much fun as we’ve experienced so far on your adventures. Take care all, and I’ll be back with specifics and photos some time around the end of the month. We’re incommunicado most of the time, so don’t despair. I remember you and will relay tales of travels, etc. when time and access allows.

Until we return, a bientot,

Claudsy

Thought Ripples: Readiness

Road to Nowhere

Life tends to throw curve balls more effectively than the best MLB pitchers. Sister and I are  preparing for a long vacation on the road lasting at least three weeks, barring unforeseen disasters. We each had specific readiness plans to implement this week.

It takes only one event to throw a spanner into the gearbox, as the Brits might say.

We had a loved one die this past weekend. With the suddenness of a train wreck, my preparation for the coming trip was derailed. I think much of the event’s effect stemmed from the fact that I couldn’t get back to be with family during this time of grief. I couldn’t sympathize or commiserate in person. I couldn’t act as a shoulder to cry on.

I also couldn’t prepare the requisite posts that were planned.  My intentions had been to pre-schedule regulars posts for this website, so that continuity flowed uninterrupted. As often happens when that spanner gets tossed my way, I couldn’t do this week’s work up to standard either.

For me, the normal guilt dredged up to cover my lapse of committed writing for the site didn’t arrive. I needed time to process this new family dynamic coming into play. I needed to look at connections between this family event and previous ones; connections that only a calendar date made significant. I needed to evaluate feelings about my personal response to this death. In other words, I needed to move inward for a while.

Writing took a backseat to days spent in unusual—for me– time-consumptive activities, leading to no tangible destination or goal. In the end, I came away with three books read, large swaths of time spent in history-drenched BBC series, and a greater understanding of how my grief process operates.

For my part, there was little-to-no real preparation for the trip. I took a relaxed attitude toward the impending departure. After that, I would post short on-the-road snippets for the site as I could. We would have that opportunity. I wasn’t going to sweat it.

This was to be a rejuvenating holiday; one filled with small doses of adventure and discovery strung on a timeline, like pearls on a string. Rather than worrying about what and when things would get posted, what might get written along the way, the only readiness that was required on my part was the one that would allow me to return home refreshed and capable to begin writing with conviction again.

A family death event has a profound effect on me, regardless of the visible response. Self-expression shuts down. Comfort activities take routine’s place in my day. And distractions from navel-gazing are required to allow emotional processing to take place back stage.

Now, I can do those last minute prep jobs for our trip. I can concentrate on future movement outward. I’ve come to grips with the past and its sinkholes of memories. A boardwalk is in place over the uneven ground of the week past, and packing can commence.

Today’s Dose Of Reflection – More Prose Than Verse

Playing With Light and Water Photo Credit: Meena Rose

Playing With Light and Water
Photo Credit: Meena Rose

I sit here literally chewing what is left of my nails in a state of awe and wonder. Last night I came to find out that some really good friends had successfully schemed a “surprise” for me. Sitting two years shy of 40, I am faced with another of life’s first moments – one captured on camera and living on in relative perpetuity on social media.

Yesterday afternoon, I found myself flying high. My muse must have been flying against the headwind of anticipation. I had remarked to some friends:

When imagination manifests into reality, there is that poignant moment of anticipation – a nervous energy quite excitable and at times erratic. This wonderful moment of peak anxiety melts away and disappears without a trace as though it never were when in the embrace of friends for the first time or the hundredth time. Time is again so very tricky.

Now, the morning after, I sit here at It’s A Grind in Cary, NC as though this place and I have been going steady for years on end. The familiarity is truly overwhelming. I wonder whether it is it the locale, the people, the very land of NC that hauntingly calls to me. It is a mystery I shall refrain from deconstructing at this time.

A Muse In Flight

By: Meena Rose

My mind flits and flies
It will not rest as a new
Wave of anticipation builds

An adventure seeker,
A worldly traveler
Perhaps the Archer,

Sovereign centaur,
Is simply toying with me
Scratching that itch to

Spread wings and fly -
Such is my story, the
Fish that sought to glide.

Neptune’s sky or Zeus’,
It matters not as the wonders
Race by – a kaleidoscope of creation.

Claudsy’s Blog: Leftovers for Breakfast

The Question Is What Is the Question?

The Question Is What Is the Question? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How does one find time? That subject has been asked often lately, and not always by me, but by people to me. I look at other writers, other friends and their activities posted for a day and wonder “How do they find time to do everything?”

Of course, some ask me the same question. Hey, just because I intend to do X number of things, doesn’t mean that I get them all finished on a specific day. I usually have things left-over for the next day, and those are the ones I work on first the next morning. It’s sometimes nice having left-overs for breakfast. But I digress.

I ask myself the question “How am I going to find time to do something to my list for the day?”

A few days ago, perhaps not for the first “time”, someone I knew stated how they did it. And I heard, not just the question but its actual meaning. They said something to the effect of, “I don’t go on a search for “time” of any duration. I squeeze small tasks into the framework of a day’s activities.”

My list of intended activities for a day usually exceeds my ability to fit it all in. That’s a given reality for me. I also know that I am capable of finishing the list if given enough time.

So, where do I lose “time”? Better yet, did I ever have enough to begin with?

Occasional meals, bathroom breaks, and necessary conversations take time out of a work day. A reduced time must now fit in all the work. Wait! What about time for meditation, sleep, and other outside functions? They need time as well.

By now, the work day has shrunk to six available hours, if that–not enough hours to complete my listed tasks. There are evening hours and late night hours that aren’t scheduled for important use. I can use those to finish up my work. And so it goes.

All of which brings me back to the original question. How does one find time?

Answer: by shaving it from larger blocks of time being used for something else. You’re cooking dinner—a necessity most days. While the pasta is on the boil, you pick up your notebook and list your priorities for the next day or the next week. You jot down a poem that’s been floating around your brain for the past couple of hours looking for an exit sign. You do something small, using the pasta-boiling time.

Tiny increments of time exist all day. You’re waiting in rush-hour traffic—take up that voice recorder of yours and dictate a few emails to save you composition time later. You can dictate the next scene of that novel you’re working on or a scene’s story arc. You can dictate a list of research items to dive into when time allows on the computer.

These squeezed-in tasks reduce the left-overs served with the next day’s breakfast. At least they are beginning to do that for me. They also reduce the frown lines across your brow.

Have fun using your razor on those block of otherwise wasted time. Until next time, a bientot,

Claudsy

 

Transitions – A dose of reflection in prose and verse

Some of you may be wondering where I disappeared to post the April Poem-A-Day frenzy. Well, I needed to take a much needed writing break and focus on some looming transitions in my life. June 2013 ushers in the final close of a 13 year long chapter in my  life.

I, no different than anyone else, have been caught in the web of experiential memories of a life gone by: the happy, the exciting, the scary, the sad. Joy blended with bitter root cured in salted tears forming a unique taste and scent – a souvenir for all the senses.

As I look over my shoulder for that final goodbye, my heart projects outward and forward to this new life and the promise that it holds. New beginnings. It suddenly dawns on me that this time it is different. I am not alone. I am supported by a network of friends both near and far, virtual and in person, old and new. I am forever grateful for their support as I have, at times, unraveled or seethed with rage. Along with that comes the irrefutable fact that they are indeed my very own Order of Good Cheer (Joy, Sanity and Grounding).

A Rose In Bloom Photo Credit: Meena Rose

A Rose In Bloom
Photo Credit: Meena Rose

Time: So Fickle and Unreliable

By: Meena Rose

Was it only yesterday
When I said “I do”?
Or, was it ages and ages
Ago?

Today that moment seems
So distant in the vastness
Of time and space -
Perhaps, an act of kindness.

My thoughts meander to
Newer connections
I seem to have known forever -
Karma’s interjections.

One look, one touch transforms;
A forever alchemy of Soul;
My pulse quickens in harmony
With the mesmerizing Black Hole.

Time – fickle and unreliable
Perhaps that it is indeed a boon
Lending permanence to impermanence
With only the certainty of the full moon.

Thought Ripples: Atoms and Space

Sands Real Look

Science fiction places a lot of emphasis on atoms and space. Physicists play with both every day. Philosophers talk of the significance of each as it pertains to the universe.

Science tells us that all that exists are atoms. This truth leads to some interesting thought trails, leading through the otherwise empty space of the universe. For if all matter is merely atoms, those atoms have only empty space in which to float around.

Think of it. Everything is the same. It really is. At its simplest explanation, all life, regardless of size, shape, function, or duration is comprised of atoms. And on this world, with our carbon-based life systems, all things organic are comprised of different proportions of the same atoms. The difference between species of organisms depends entirely upon the assembly line putting them together.

Philosophers would probably go a bit further to say that because atoms, regardless of their complexity, are kept stable by the space between their moving parts, each atom is a tiny universe of its own; that when all life reduction is done, life exists within an infinitely huge universe or one infinitesimally small, according to one’s perspective.

To the side of this debate is another. This one is the subject of death, a ceasing of life energies. But do those energies cease?

It’s been said that energy cannot/does not cease. It changes form. Chemicals are much the same in their corner of the science room, too. They combine, devolve, reduce, change form, and otherwise change, but their atoms don’t disappear.

Solid rock can dissolve and crumble into sand through pressure of water or mass fiction. Yet, the atoms remain—in another form. Stone has ended its existence as boulder and cliff side. That existence is gone and replaced with its essence exposed as colored sands, winking like miniscule beads strewn under a microscope.

Clay can be fired into porcelain, but remains clay at its heart, though the fires of the kiln have rearranged its molecules to make it harder and more glass-like. While its life as clay ended, its life as fine china began.

Each of these examples illustrates changes to form, to molecular arrangement, but atoms didn’t disappear.

Our bodies suck in oxygen, swirl it around in our lungs, and exhale carbon dioxide. The exchange of atoms is a good one for us and all other mammals. Our exhalations breathe life into the greenery around us. They return the favor and the cycle begins anew.

In a scientific sense, what humans call death is an exchange of organic matter; atoms moving from one existence to another. That which resides within each of us, our soul/spirit/self, moves out into another existence. Again, nothing is lost.

If all that exists in the universe is atoms or space, why do we concern ourselves so fervently with material possessions, with being right or wrong, or with ownership of territory? How can one atom group own another atom group to the exclusion of all others?

Claudsy’s Blog: Taking Stock

Ewam--Flowering Tree

Life wanders among the potholes presented to us each day, seldom weaving the exact course set for it; looking for adventure, security, fun, or whatever label we’ve placed on a goal post somewhere in our future.

Along the way, events happen to bring us up short, in time to take stock in where we’ve been and where we’re headed. This week so far has been one for taking stock. Some events are universal in impact.

Take yesterday, for example. Sister and I took the drive down to Arlee, MT, to visit one of our favorite places. We hadn’t been there yet this year. It’s an hour and a half drive, and when we go, we plan lunch out and a few stops along the way for photos.

We went to Ewam, better known as The Garden of One Thousand Buddahs. I’ve written about Ewam before—about its quality of peace and tranquility. We’ve been there during high summer and bright sunshine, Gloomy Spring and drizzle, and late fall when all of the flowers have gone by. The grass and flowers may change with the season, but the feel of the place never does.

Ewam--ApproachCalmness descends upon the spirit as one approaches the circle of The Mother. By the time the visitor stands before the pavilion, thoughts from the outside world have drained away, leaving only feelings of content and tranquility. It is a magical place.

We hadn’t gone for teaching, though such is provided there for those who wish to remain and learn the lessons offered and path extended to students. We had gone to reconnect with what we’d already found there. We’d gone to take in peace, to settle rumblings within, and to leave with spirits renewed.

Ewam Pool

When we returned home, our FB pages, news feeds, and private messages spoke of the horrors in Oklahoma. This news was important to us. We have so many friends and relations there. The scramble was on to see if all were safe.

Until bedtime, news feeds were monitored, messages were zipped from place to place, and talk centered on a death toll. Throughout the evening we clung to the calmness and tranquility given us earlier in the day. Nothing we could do at that time would affect what was happening in our old home area. Prayers had to suffice then, as they do now.

We each took stock in our own ways. I looked back at where we’d lived and how close that area had come. I remembered those in the storm’s direct path. And I took stock in the ways we were connected there.

I thought of my life now and that I had begun this path while living there. My plans took root in the Oklahoma soil. My life had become tangled in those of so many others. I’m left with prayers for those in need. I was blessed to have been an Okie for a little while.

Until another week passes, a bientot,

Claudsy

Related articles

Sunday’s Blossoms: Deliberately Bad

Courtesy of BJ Jones Photography

Courtesy of BJ Jones Photography

Those who popped in this morning to get the prompt for the day were greeted with one to boggle the mind.  Prompt #108 wanted us to wWrite a “Bad” poem.; not a poem about something bad, but one that was bad.

Like most poets, I’m one that tries hard to eliminate the bad so that something good appears before the eyes of the reader. And as usual, my resulting verse was one that circled around and ate its own tale. I hope you will forgive this intentional destruction of poetry efforts and enjoy the irony of it all.

It Stinks

Well, it does.
little thing can’t help it.
Its how it was made.
None can blame the
created for being brought
from the mold too soon.

It slides around, in search
of an appreciative pat,
only to find no hand raised
to lend it aid and comfort.
It can’t help itself or it’s odor;
its just a bad little poem.

Thought Ripples: Mindfulness: Where Does It Get You?

Photo Credit: Sergiu Bacioiu via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Sergiu Bacioiu via Compfight cc

 I began a course recently from The Great Courses called “Practicing Mindfulness: An Introduction to Meditation. The professor is Mark. W. Muesse, Ph. D. from Rhodes College.

Meditation isn’t something new to me, but this type of application makes for interesting learning. Standard practice meditation involves delving into oneself, discovering those nooks and crannies we’ve been hiding from ourselves since we were born. It involves a direct stripping away, if you will, of the layers of protection we’ve placed around our feelings and experiences.

Mindful meditation cares nothing about those past experiences or those layers. Instead, it moves the practitioner along a series of deeper and deeper levels of awareness of everything outside the body, mind, and spirit. Don’t be fooled, though.

Dr. Muesse explains how this form of meditation operates.

“Some people consider meditation to be an escape from reality, but… Given its bold intention to attend unflinchingly to all of our [current] experiences without judgment, it is more precise to call mindful meditation an escape into reality.”

Mindful meditation works to encourage awareness of personal judgments, prejudices, and attitudes and to eliminate them; to become objective and non-judgmental to what we observe outside of ourselves. It achieves that goal by creating intensified observations  of our surroundings and our internal response to them. Once that awareness takes hold, the elimination of judgment becomes easier.

I’ve gone through the first few days of preparation before the actual meditation began, and I’ve started the meditation exercises. Now, the real work begins.

This practice has helped me become hyper-aware of my thoughts about things I observe. When I see someone, anyone, and make an internal statement about that person, good or bad, it’s an observation and a judgment. Pretty or not, slim or not, old or young; these are all judgments of a type. An act is bad or good. That, too, is a judgment. One can say “moral” or not.

What we commonly use as descriptors in conversation to designate one person from another is a judgment of sorts. Writers, especially, use these devices to interest the reader enough to keep turning pages.

Descriptors aren’t really the problem, though. It’s the moral judgments that are targeted; that “good or bad” judgment. Mockery, ridicule, and hatred brought about by nothing other than an imagined difference is destructive judgment.  These are the thoughts practitioners work to eliminate in themselves.

If total objectivity is achieved, does the practitioner become a mini-Spock without emotion, living on logic alone?

I can’t believe that we will ever achieve that level of objectivity. Even Vulcans had passions, after all. That’s why they began living by logic.

What I’ve discovered isn’t pure logic with this meditation. I found myself and a way to remove prejudices, large or small, that lurked behind a veil of descriptors. I discovered how many of those judgments I made each day, without conscious thought.

This is an enlightening experience. I’ve barely begun, but I see where this is headed. Will I be a better person through this practice? I like to think so. I know I’ll be a more mindful person, but never a mini-Spock.