Frost heaves

The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
--William Wordsworth

Welcome, Spring. Winter's parting tantrum left us a good 10 inches of snow last Monday and Tuesday, after a week of dreamy sunshine, and a cloudy, unsettled chill has lingered. I know, it'll pass. It always does.

Last week was hard. Damn hard. I had to do things I didn't want to do, didn't know how to do, didn't think I'd have the strength to do, and it wasn't just one thing but a slew of things, all tremendously draining. Tell my husband our marriage is over, and explain why, what happened, what's going to happen next (I hardly know that myself, but since I'm the one who opened this door, I'm supposed to take the lead). Nurse Maggie through a scary two days of illness. Wonder yet again what's the sense of living so remote from civilization, so isolated and vulnerable. Try to cobble together enough work to support us, then actually find uninterrupted time to work, which lately has meant staying up very late knowing the kids would be up by 6:30 or so. Try to figure out what's wrong with my computer, and why the DSL I'd breathlessly anticipated still isn't working after a week of troubleshooting. Thinking about any of it, I start feeling panicky. It's too close, and unresolved, and overwhelming.

Now I have to get back to daily life. Reestablish our routine, focus on work. I have so little energy to do anything. And another upheaval is coming this week as Antonio returns from Denver and tries to start a new life here. I can't do it for him, but I feel compelled to help, but I have to make and keep boundaries. It would be so easy to slip back, to shrink away from what I know will be difficult and perhaps even devastating, and part of me doesn't want to do this even though I know it'll be spiritual death, for both of us, if I don't. "Do what you know in your heart you need to do." Damn easier said than done, that's all I can say right now.

Senate Clears Way for Arctic Drilling

Drilling the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge won't make a dent in gas prices at the pump or break our dependence on Middle East oil. This was really a vote for Big Oil, not for the solid majority of Americans who oppose turning America's last great wilderness into a vast, polluted oil field. President Bush and his Senate allies resorted to a sneaky budget maneuver to get their way.

Now, Congress is one step closer to trading away an irreplaceable national treasure for a few drops of oil that we wouldn't see for a decade or more. If the oil industry can drill in the Arctic Refuge, then no place, no matter how pristine, will be safe. But there is still have a lot of political tundra to cross before this fight is over. We'll keep battling them every step of the way.
--Karen Wayland, Legislative Director, Natural Resources Defense Council (links mine)

Dammit.

March = Big Snow

I had a lovely, manic weekend of gardening in the warm sun -- and I must have known subconsciously that this was coming:



We've got about eight inches, and it's still falling -- I guess we're getting these wraparound waves because it's blowing from the east rather than the west and that always means trouble. But Las Vegas, NM has two feet and counting, so I won't complain. I'm glad I stacked the wood, cleaned up the front yard, and refilled the birdfeeders, though. Not much else to do but watch movies and gaze out the window.

Robins

I had my front and back doors open this evening, to air out the house after the woodstove went haywire and started belching sooty smoke from all its orifices. The dogs came in and wandered around, warily at first, then happily, cleaning the food off the dining room floor and chairs and delighting in the messes around Laz's and Maggie's spots. Lazarus ran outside and twirled around in a momentary drizzle, looking straight up and exclaiming, "RAIN, Mama! It's RAIN!" Maggie crawled right up to the threshold and kept reaching her hands out into the cool air, laughing and clapping as she watched her big brother sway and dance. And then, for just a moment, everyone paused, and we heard a robin singing its evening song. I always forget that song over the long winter -- it catches me by surprise every year, one late winter day, and a part of my soul that has been sleeping stirs and stretches and takes a deep breath, and I know spring is coming.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Maggie Roo

It's been one year already.

Aw, shucks, is that for me??


We had a small party here at home -- just Maggie, Lazarus, and me. Lazarus figured out that if said "happy birthday, Maggie!" he'd get props from Mama, and, eventually, some cake. But Maggie got the first bite, and I think she enjoyed it:



Want eat cake, NOW. ...Please.


Okay, enough pictures already! Pesky paparazzi!


Tonight as I laid her down to sleep, I said a prayer: May each year bring you bountiful blessings, and every year may more people who love you come to celebrate your birthday with you -- someday more people than can fit in a whole house.

A parable

I repotted some plants today, unpacking their cramped twisted roots and easing them into the fresh dirt lining the larger ceramic pots I'd dug out of a box in the shed. Some hadn't been repotted in years, I realized, yet they'd survived, if not thrived (the jade plant being a mysterious exception given the particular neglect it has endured) in the many, varying spaces I'd put them over the years.

Over so many moves I've managed to bring along a few plants each time. One of my most heartbreaking moments when preparing to leave California was realizing that I would have to leave behind all of my outdoor plants and most of the indoors ones, too. This was the most luxurious collection of greenery and flora I'd ever managed to cultivate -- both because of the mild winters, which let me keep many plants outdoors where they really wanted to be, and because I was sure I was finally home and so I didn't hold back from sending down roots, figuratively and literally. Outdoors I had bougainvilleas -- such a strangely opulent plant, with its showers of neon blossom-like bracts -- and huge green elephant ears and fuschias hung carefully in moist shady corners, and two huge ficus trees in pots at the front entry, where I also had different ferns and cyclamen and amaryllis planted in the thin strip of earth between the driveway and the entryway. In the front yard, I'd just planted an avocado tree that would be bearing fruit in another few years. Around the side, what was a wasted strip between our house and the next became a fragrant haven of jasmine, more ferns (since it was the northeast corner of the lot), impatiens, and ivies. Inside I had hanging plants and small potted plants and, in my bright living room, opulent floor specimens I'd carefully cultivated for years, hoping for just such a sunny space.

We decided to move to Denver rather hastily, and although I thought I'd be able to take most of the indoor and a few of the outdoor plants with me, the realities of packing everything, but everything, in such a short time soon overwhelmed me. So I gave most of the plants away to friends, who promised to tend them carefully, and left most of the outdoor plants for whoever would be so lucky as to buy and live in my house next. I just couldn't leave those two beautiful ficus trees, though. I knew I was going to a cold grey place, and I thought the trees would keep my head above water during what I sensed would be a difficult adjustment. I managed to shove them and a few other potted plants, mostly small ones, into the moving truck just before my husband slammed and bolted the door. On the rainy November night we left, I had to sit in the driveway for just a few more moments to look at my house, my almost-overgrown entryway, my side garden where the hummingbirds would return in the morning for more nectar and song. And I cried. In fact, I still cry, more than two years later, thinking about being uprooted so unexpectedly, remembering that moment when I lost faith that I'd ever settle and not have to tear up or leave behind so much.

We moved three more times after Denver, and I think I still have four or five of the plants I brought with me. I lost a small azalea, a philodendron that had once hung from ceiling to floor, and a few others to the dry indoor heat. The ficus trees survived the first move but both perished when we moved away from Denver, killed by a hard overnight freeze as they waited in the moving truck for us to finish packing. That hit me hard. Not just because they were still regal but because they had stood at the portal to what I'd thought was Home, and I was saving them for my next real home.

This afternoon, as I repotted three survivors of my tortuous travels, I noticed that one, a small ficus that had never grown much since we left California, had very little root system left. The thready tangle that dangled from the plant's base was brown and dry and mineral-caked, and as I picked at it I realized most of the roots had been dead for some time. Somehow the tree had managed to take in just enough sustenance to keep the appearance of life, but over the years it had been dying, just underneath the surface, and with its recent shedding of most its leaves, which I'd attributed to temperature fluctuation, it seemed to be giving up. This small tree had once thrived on my dresser in the big bedroom of our California house. I remember wondering why it stopped growing after we left, but figured it just needed a stable home and, now, more space to grow. It still looks alive, but it can't grow now, its shriveled roots too long neglected, no longer able to take in nourishment. I've kind of known that for a while but hoped it wasn't true, that somehow I could revive it. Now I must decide: let it linger, keep trying and hoping to save it even as it continues to slip toward its inevitable demise, or bury it in a corner of the vegetable garden. I know what I must do, and it just goes against my deep drive to keep nurturing, keep things growing, keep the green light of hope alive. But it's time to let it go, along with all that has gone before it, and work on bringing the rest of my garden back to life.

Why haven't you written?

I've been reading other weblogs lately and have been awed by their power and beauty. And I come back here and wince at the paucity (see, there's an important word) of words here. Many thoughts and ideas drift through my head during the day, but I'm constantly moving and tending and I write nothing down because, well, holding a pen or sitting at a computer seems incompatible with chasing a toddler brandishing a soggy diaper in one hand and a purloined coffee cup in the other, or pulling the baby back out from under the recliner yet again, or making yet another of the endless stream of meals these creatures seem to need throughout the day, or dealing with Dear Husband on the phone for the fourth time today (he may be in Denver, but he's doing his best to make sure I don't miss him too much). The time I might spend writing -- when both babes are napping (I know, how lucky am I to get simultaneous naps most days?!?) or after I put them to bed at night -- usually trickles away to cleaning up or working or doing homework or maybe, just maybe working on the quilt I started for Maggie two months ago.

And I think being in survival mode for so long has muted me. How can I sit down and think and write from a deep place when I've been treading water for... well, years now? Ranting is easy -- something from the outside pings me and I have a stockpile of righteous anger at the ready, and it's easy to fire something off when it doesn't come from the heart. A heart I hardly know anymore, at least some corners of it. My children absorb me, happily 98 percent of the time, and I could never have imagined the depths of caring and passion I've found with them. But other things are going on inside that I'm ignoring, or unaware of, because I just don't want to sit down (I like to say "set down" in keeping with my old-timey ways) and dig and sift through all the dirt and roots and old buried things. Get my hands dirty. Sit on the ground for a while next to the hole and the piles to sort it all out. Uninterrupted, unavailable. I don't have the space to do that right now and haven't quite figured out yet when I'll really be ready to make that space. Maybe I'm starting now, making some tentative scratches at the dirt to see whether it's muddy or packed solid or just dormant, crumbly and dark and still fertile under its thin winter crust.

Given that it's almost 12:30 a.m. and Maggie will probably be up at 4 and both kids again at 7, I have to wash my hands now and go to bed. But first, two bits of (good!)news:

-I got DSL service today -- DSL, out here in the boondocks!
-Maggie started crawling for real today -- going forward on hands and knees, eyes fixed on destination, plot for world domination hatching underneath her sweetly scented hair.

"You're not to be so blind with patriotism that you can't face reality. Wrong is wrong, no matter who does it or says it."
-Malcolm X, 1925-1965

My life

Antonio is visiting this weekend from Denver. We went to a friend's for a "dinner party" (in the loosest sense of the term) and had a great time -- all but one of these people live out of town now, so we rarely see them anymore. It was great to hang out for a long evening and have good talking time. I love it when people shower Laz and Maggie with attention, but I also love carrying on a grown-up conversation once in a while. It cheered me up a lot.

My mom will appreciate this: I dreamed last night that I was house-hunting *in and around Philly* and found the perfect place for myself and the kids and the dogs (sorry, Mom, they came along for the dream), with huge trees and a big yard and an old stone barn. Of course it was a sunny, warm day and everything was green, which suckered me right in.

No, I'm not making any plans. If I based my actions on my dreams, yesterday I'd have headed out to sea in a large tin washbucket with a bag of apples. Now, that doesn't seem like a good idea, does it?

Does it?

A moment in time

This week has been bittersweet -- full of anxiety and sadness yet also of moments like these:



Sunbeams they be, my little Maggie and Lazarus.

Today

I'm upstairs again, thanks to my mom's hard work insulating and cleaning up the loft, and it's divine, especially with the sun streaming in through the skylights. Maggie is up here, too, flipping through books and grooving on KUNM's incredibly diverse Native music playlist (I actually get radio reception up here!). I have four loads of clean laundry flapping in the breeze, Lazarus is napping, and I finally found a good recipe for carrot breakfast muffins. It's a good day.

My camera is still downstairs (along with most of the rest of my "office" -- haven't moved it back up here yet), so no new pictures for now because I just know I'll wake Lazarus walking through the bedroom to get it. Instead I'll take a look back:

Lazarus, this time last year, in the beautiful sweater my mom made him last winter, and trying on a hat she made for Maggie:


Maggie, this time last year -- I can't believe I was that big, and no wonder I couldn't breathe and desperately wanted to lie down all the time:


Lazarus, two years ago, back in the Denver days:


It's already starting to seem like a long time ago. I keep telling myself to hold on tight to these moments so I never lose them, but I know they'll fade. Just sorting through clothes that don't fit Maggie anymore, some of them clothes that Lazarus wore as well, makes me a bit sad. I know, my babies are thriving and learning and becoming wonderful new little people every day, and I've been incredibly fortunate to be here for all of it. But I understand now why people, even strangers, want so much to hold other people's babies: there's nothing quite so heavenly.

I know this person

Maggie looks like, well, herself in this picture. Herself as a person, not just a baby. I just wanted to share.

Just pictures

Pure joy:




Their favorite Christmas gift: a $.69 bottle of bubbles. They got other great stuff, too, but this was just the best, and the returns are immeasurable.

Victory!

Republicans Abandon Ethics Changes
House Republican leaders Monday night abandoned proposals to loosen rules governing members' ethical conduct, as they yielded to pressure from rank-and-file lawmakers concerned that the party was sending the wrong message.

I was about to spam everyone with an urgent call to arms, to flood the US House with protests about its proposed ethics rule changes... but they've already backed down!

BUT:
Republicans voted to go ahead with another of their controversial ethics proposals and will ask the full House to approve a change that could curtail ethics committee investigations. Under the change, a Republican vote would be required before an inquiry can begin. The committee is evenly divided between the two parties, and under current rules a deadlock means an investigation begins automatically.

Interesting that the Republicans would vote before beginning an inquiry, and that they're still pushing for any changes in this direction. Shouldn't these law-and-order paragons of good moral values be pushing the other way? Oh, ethics isn't the same as morality, you say? Certainly not in their world view.

Note to mom: I have some pictures on the camera to download, so yes, you'll see the babes again soon!

It's all gut-wrenching and nearly incomprehensible, but to me the most heartbreaking aftermath of Sunday's earthquake and tsunami is the thousands of orphans and missing children.

After a day and a night stuck in coconut trees, [Taiwanese girl Yeh Chia-ni] told rescuers: "I thought my parents didn't want me any more."

People are being incredibly generous, and in addition to pledges from governments around the world, large organizations and retailers are pledging funds and making it easy for individuals to help, too. Just a few examples: Amazon.com had collected over $5 million as of midday today from a link on its front page, and many other tech types are adding to that.

The Pew Charitable Trusts of Philadelphia plans to send $1 million to the American Red Cross to support relief efforts. The organization's chief executive officer, Rebecca Rimel, says she hopes that Philadelphia residents will contribute $500,000 and that major cities across the USA will each meet or exceed $1 million in donations.... "If every major city could rise to this enormous challenge, the private sector could come up with $50 million to $75 million" and help save perhaps 1 million survivors from starvation, disease and homelessness, she says.

Let's show the US administration just how generous we're willing to be. (I swiped the addresses and links -- hope that's okay, a.j.)

International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies
PO Box 372
CH-1211 Geneva 19
Switzerland
41-22-730-4222

UNICEF
333 East 38th Street
New York, NY 10016
1-800-FOR-KIDS

American Friends Service Committee (AFSC Crisis Fund)
1501 Cherry Street
Philadelphia, PA
1-215-241-7000

Doctors Without Borders/Medecins Sans Frontieres
PO Box 2247
New York, NY 10116-2247
1-888-392-0392

Mercy Corps
PO Box 2669
Portland, OR 97208
1-800-852-2100

Oxfam International/Oxfam America
1-800-77OXFAM

Save the Children
Asia Earthquake/Tidal Wave Relief Fund
54 Wilton Road
Westport, CT 06880
1-800-728-3843

Quake altered Earth's orbit

The 9.0 earthquake that devastated Asia late last week had an astronomical impact, literally. That's just frightening.

More reading, maps, and video here.

And more pictures of the babes, to steady my heart.

From the land of plenty

I just found a poetry contest at The American Street that reminds me that poetry can be political, too. Its single rule: Use Donald Rumsfeld's line, "You go to war with [sic: what] you have," in verse of three lines or more.

I might tap one out, but here's my pick so far:

Scrounging through the spoils of war
Finding scrap and little more,
The soldier stood and faced the man
Who answered from the speaker’s stand,
“You go to war with what you have”

Another man, in other ranks
Facing guns and planes and tanks
Sets a charge and turns away
Another bomb, another day
“You go to war with what you have”

The President sets forth his case
Claim victory while saving face
The heavy cost is justified
While bolstering our common pride
“You go to war with what you have”

In towns and cities through the nation
Witnessing the same occasion
Sons, daughters, husbands, wives
Called to set aside their lives
“You go to war with what you have”

by Harry — December 23, 2004 @ 8:38 pm

An online friend's brother just came home from Iraq, alive thank God. But this US Marine does have bacterial meningitis and otitis media, and almost lost an eye. He didn't go over there with any of that (except the eye, of course). Dare anyone call me unpatriotic because I question how our troops are provisioned and cared for as they fight this $152-billion-and-counting war that has no end in sight?

Cold

I glanced outside and the thermometer read 9 degrees. So I let the dogs in, and they must know it's a treat because they're behaving so very well. They seem to have had a tiff sometime this evening, though, because Chica was lying right by the front door but Lucy came from around back and they just growled at each other. What do dogs fight about? They're well fed and have plenty of room to roam, but sometimes they get snappish with each other, kind of how I used to fight with my friends when I was a kid -- I hate you forever for one day, sheepishly stroll by your house the next, and the day after that am thrilled when you come out on your bike to ride up to the playground with me. But tiff or not, on a cold night like this they should be cuddled up tight together. And dang it, I forgot to get hay for their doghouse, which probably explains why at least one of them wasn't in there lying on that cold hard floor.

Antonio seems to be doing okay in Denver. He's sad and misses life here, but he found a job right away and will probably find a second one early in the new year. I talk to Lazarus about "Papa" throughout the day, and tell him often that Papa loves him so much, and sometimes Lazarus tells me something he wants to tell Papa, like, "Tell Papa Lucy grumpy" or "Lil guy chase chickins Papa." But then a truck drives by and Lazarus calls out "Papa coming" and I hate having to tell him that, no, Papa's not coming, but Papa loves you.... Whatever else is going on here in grownup land, all Lazarus knows is that Papa isn't here and hasn't been coming home in the evenings anymore, and knowing he feels that loss just makes me sad.

And even though I was already doing 90% of the childcare and chores around the house (sorry, hon', but it's the truth), that last 10% is killin' me. Around 5 or 6 p.m. I just want to go hide -- late afternoon/early evening is always the witching hour, but in the summer I could let Laz roam around outdoors till dinner was ready. Being penned up in the house sucks, and I have to admit that we've been watching more movies, "The Tigger Movie" being his current favorite. No matter what, though, sometime after dinner Laz will go sit in his little reading chair and spend an hour or more looking at his books. We've read some of them so many times now that he can narrate the story as he goes -- tonight I knew he was looking at "The Very Hungry Caterpiller" because I could hear him saying "four strawberries... cupcake... watermelon... pickle!" and then "oh, pretty butterfly!"

I should be working, not writing, so off I go. Gotta stoke up the woodstove, too -- keep them dogs warm....

"Mama fun tonight!"

Lazarus told me that tonight as I put him to bed. I've been tired and busy and a bit snappish the past few days, so I was really glad to hear him say that.

I was also pleased to get the camera working -- I read the manual (what a concept, huh?) and found I just had to reset it to get the internal memory working again. So heeeeeeeeeeeere's Maggie!


And here's Lucy and Lazarus, just goofing around (once in a while I let the dogs in, much to their and the children's delight... tonight I just needed them to scarf up all the food Maggie dropped around her chair during dinner. Then I gave them each a pork bone and booted their restless hairy cat-chasing butts out the door.) The back story: The bowl Lazarus is holding suddenly became empty, but Lucy insisted she was in the other room chasing Keiko up the ladder and had nothing to do with it. And a special note to Keri: Laz has always loved the letter thingie you gave him, but now he sings the different letters -- often on his own!

No pictures, alas

More camera woes: I discovered (after much searching and gnashing of teeth) that the little memory card somehow slipped right out of my digital camera. This was just not a good buy. So I've dusted off my "real" camera and will keep shooting, and will somehow get the pictures from film to pixels. Somehow.

Antonio left for Denver on Friday and had a good trip up. Lazarus keeps asking for him, and I don't quite know what to say except that "Papa went on a trip. Papa loves you." How do military families do it? And they're going half a world away, for God knows how long, to stand in the line of fire that Donald Dick and friends insist is essential to world peace. Funny that, waging a war in the name of peace. Though they never use that word so I guess I'm expecting too much. ANYway, so I tell myself not to feel too stressed out, but it's hard sometimes, especially right before Christmas.

Time to make some chicken for the monkeys. Maggie can now eat all kinds of tiny-bite-sized foods by herself, and seems to favor her left hand lately. I love watching her focus on a piece, slowly reach for and grasp it, cram it in her mouth, and chuckle when she likes how it tastes. Her favorites seem to be chicken, peaches, Cheerios, and cheese. Lazarus' current favorite food is "peendie buttah" -- peanut butter, preferably straight from the jar with a spoon, or on an apple slice if I insist. Another cool development: Lazarus seems to be accepting Maggie as "human" a bit more every day. He sometimes takes a favorite book or toy to show her, and yesterday was playing her little music box and dancing for her, much to her delight.

Okay, dinner, then bedtime, then back to work -- the evening routine is pretty grueling with two babes, more so when I have an edit on deck. Work is good, of course, but it's the week before Christmas and I REALLY want to send cards and thank-yous to my generous family and bake cookies to make little boxes of goodies for all the people in town who've been so kind this year. Sarah at the bank, who didn't blink an eye when I brought several hundred dollars of change in to deposit. Abby and Libby at the post office, who always google over Laz and Maggie. Betty at the hardware store, Barbara at the grocery store, Clay at the feed store (my new best friend now that I have 50 or so chickens that Antonio left), Bob and Harold the car mechanics (who are always happy to jumpstart the Bronco, which dies almost every time I take it out), Steve and Betty at the wool mill, and Cat the weaver who calls me every month about the arts council meetings even though I never manage to make it. And of course Gail the knitting guru, and her deputy Evelyn who also coordinates the food bank distributions that are saving our butts this winter.

Wow. I live in a great place. Making that little list sure cheered me up.