What makes life worthwhile?
The season of reflection is upon us
Check in
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
From "The Raven," by Edgar Allen Poe.Goodbye to yellow
A few weeks ago, and then again last week, I regaled you with photos of yellow things. They were inspired by the yellow foliage that remained after other fall colors faded.
Now, the yellow leaves are mostly gone, and the forest is dressed for winter. There is no hiding the perfection and imperfection of trees. This is the essence of winter, stripped down to the elements.
Without the softening of snow, trees now are bare to view, with nothing left to cloak their nakedness.
Could our souls be like those trees, bare and trembling, in this season? Waiting for the holidays, breathing air that’s daily more frigid, stripped to our essence, shivering in expectation?
I want to embrace the nakedness of the season, even as I quail before the onset of cold.
Meanwhile, I have some photos of whimsy and loneliness to share.
Early December celebrations
In 2023, Hanukkah begins at sundown on Thursday, December 7, and continues through Friday, December 15. My daughter Maggie’s birthday is December 5, and December 6 is the feast of St. Nicholas.
Three words
In my dip and swish style of reading, I came across a reference to the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley (my alma mater). The Joy of Well-Being by Colleen and Jason Wachob quotes the center as saying that reading widely can connect readers to diverse peoples, new ideas and a greater understanding of the world.
In the Wachobs’ words, the center further suggests that we “turn hurts into healing for others” in a way that is
Deep
Meaningful
Motivating
Three heavy words. Let’s explore them.
Deep
Deep within all of us, at our core, is our essence. It is the realm of our deepest fears, strongest hopes, most repressed emotions.
I’ve heard it described (really!) as a soft caramel-like place. Volcano may be a more apt metaphor. It’s hot and steamy and molten at the center of you.
Some of us are fortunate enough to have ready access to this depth. For them, the well has already been drilled and the water runs clear. The rest of us, most of us, need to work at excavating our emotions.
We pull them from the muck of our fears and desires, rinse them off, admire them and try them on. Joy! Fulfillment! Love! Respect! Let us luxuriate in our new finds.
Meaningful
Well, yes, we want life to have meaning. We want our work, our passions, ourselves to matter. Thing is, it takes work to do that, and we are not always up for it.
Choosing meaning, finding meaning, accessing meaning—these give us some space to work through. Keeping our hand strong on the tiller of our own nature and desires, we can navigate meaningfully the shifting shoals in the river of our life.
When we are up to it. That takes motivation.
Motivating
Now we are at the crisis point. We’ve reached our depth, perhaps at some cost to our egos, and we think we have a grasp on why we are here. Motivation puts action into context. We are moved to take the next steps in the process, the process of exploring, discerning, discovering who we are.
Perhaps these things are best approached in meditation, or dreams.
It is for us to explore.
Maybe you could give a little thought to this, to how we refine the thoughts, impulses, passions and emotions we have released from our inner being. What we brought up from far, far inside us.
This is being human. We dive, we excavate, we wonder why.
Farmers market poems
Once again, I offered to write poems for free for passers-by at the Hillsdale farmers market. The date was November 19, and I wrote six poems.
A woman named Heather asked for a poem about calm, then never came back for it.
Calm
Breathe gently, Spirit, Settle my heart. Make me less rigid. Calm, bring me calm. The season is turning. Leaves skitter down wind. The cold seeps inside me, Upsetting my mind. Calm! Bring me home, Now overcoming, My life at a crossroads Of love and desire. Help me choose wisely— I know from the outset That all my life hinges On this perfect moment.
Lindy (mom) and Ellory (daughter) walked up with Qibli, a Burmese water dog and poodle mix, a wiggling, fluffy dog with a coat of white, black and tan. They wanted a poem about getting along with cats.
I looked up “Qibli.” He’s a “dragonet” in Wings of Fire, a series of dragon fantasy novels written by Tui T. Sutherland and published by Scholastic.
Dog dreams
Qibli dreams of cats, Cats who torment him, Cats who love kibbles, Cats who are brave. Cats dream of Qibli, Fluffy and friendly, Ready to play, All bluster and bluff. Friends in the dream world Friends on the real stage, Backyard companions, Let’s eat, let’s eat. Who wins the war Between dogs and cats? Make it a draw Between Qibli and cat.
Christine saw a bald eagle that morning while visiting her dad’s property in Washougal, Wash. Wow, a chance to put Washougal in a poem!
On the water
Washougal memories! Soaring bald eagle. Cattails and rushes, All ready for fall. Gone are the geese, now, On their honking pilgrimage, Leaving the sparrows To forage for seeds. Winter comes rushing Along the cold river, Shimmering wavelets Reflecting the sun. The sun, wan with winter, No warmth in the shallows Hear the eagle cry, lonely, The hawks and the owls.
Rodriguez accepted the gift of a poem I was writing while waiting for customers.
Pigeon time
Pigeons on a wire Pooping on pedestrians, Shouldering each other, Inching together. Wings huddle the wind, What are they waiting for? More summer weather? The promise of spring? Sorry, fellas, it’s a long wait To skip to that season. How ’bout I toss you some Crusts of old bread? The last thing you need Is a comforting human. You have all your friends, They are sitting on line. Carry on, pigeons! Don’t ruffle a feather, Shoulder the cold And never look back.
A man named Keith stopped by to recite his own poem about beloved boots. He was going to send me a copy. I hope he does. (As of now, he hasn’t.)
Nell and May, nearly 4 and nearly 6, asked me to write about tigers. And cheetahs!
Animal travelers
Tigers and cheetahs Riding in cars— Rhinos prefer bicycles And kangaroos take the bus. Too many animals To fill up a zoo. Keep them in jungles Where crocodiles live. Are you my tiger? What is your name? Trilby? Well, Trilby, I’m glad I know you! The cheetah is William. Some call him Bill Without his permission. Maybe that’s rude. But Bill is my friend. So is old Trilby. Together we gather To eat and explore. I love my tiger!
Susan, the daughter of a woman who lives at Rose Schnitzer Manor, remembered a walk on a pretty day.
Walking on a fine day
Autumn’s clear light And the fresh wind of winter. Final leaves tremble And fall to the street. Kicking dry leaves, My shoes are the grinders, Making fine dust Of yesterday’s green. Cold air, so bracing! Chill on my eyebrow. Breathe in crisp air, Breathe out to the sky. Darkling clouds gather, Smudged at their bases, Rain for the moment, Snow soon to come. But now, joy in autumn Air like crisp apples, Cheeks warm with frost. The wind in my hair.
Followup
Last week, I wrote a mini rave about my favorite audiobook narrator, Grover Gardner. I have an ear for music but not for voices, and I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe Gardner’s voice.
Now I have found a description in an article, “Everything I know, I learned from Grover Gardner.”
Greg Saunier, a musician, was looking for something to ease the monotony of long road trips. He choose the longest audiobook he could find, William L. Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. 65 hours. Narrated by my friend, Grover Gardner.
Here’s Saunier’s description of Gardner’s voice:
This man spoke into my ear for hours every day for weeks. His somehow simultaneously smooth and gravelly voice, the slightly AM-radio quality of his microphone, his constantly varying pace and musical inflection, and above all that slightest whiff of sardonic humor in his delivery, resulted in my total devotion.
That’s it! The “sardonic humor.” He may be reading serious stuff, but Gardner hangs on to his humanity.
A new skill!
I’m delighted to have learned a new knitting technique at the advanced age of 73. It’s called the Old Norwegian cast-on.
Not the best photo, but you get the idea.
I’ve always cast on—that’s when you set up the needles with yarn for knitting—using the “long tail” method. It’s simple and works well. But the Old Norwegian is sturdier and more stretchy as part of the finished hat, sock or garment.
A short tale of the long tail
To learn the Old Norwegian cast on, I started with illustrations rather than videos. I’m old-fashioned that way. I worked from a book, but these online instructions have better, clearer photos. So I got it all:
Leave a long tail to start. This method eats up a lot of yarn, and nothing is worse than having to start over if you didn’t allow enough to begin with.
Make a slip knot and slide it onto a needle.
Weave the working yarn through your left hand, looping it over the forefinger.
Slip the tail yarn over your left thumb to create two strands.
Trick photo. I balanced the needle on my fingers while I snapped the shot single-handed with the other hand. Photo © Fran Gardner Stick the needle under both thumb strands from the top, twist the needle upward, then pick up the yarn from over your forefinger. Pull that loop back through the thumb strand—just where is tricky, best to watch a video.
Drop the rest of the loop off your thumb and tighten the stitch you just created on the needle.
Keep doing that til you have enough stitches. It gets easier as you go.
Trying to help
This last week I offered to help a fellow resident at Rose Schnitzer Manor cast on for a little knitting project (we are kitting squares of scrap yarn to sew together into blankets for the homeless).
I cast on for her, using my new Norwegian technique, but she couldn’t remember how to knit. She kept trying to loop the yarn over both needles instead of between them.
I finally had to leave. I couldn’t help her and I felt bad about it.
I was reminded of my mother, who in her late 90s, decided to take up knitting again. But she couldn’t remember how to cast on, even with the simple long tail. And she wouldn’t let me help her.
Helpless
My inability to help my mother at the end of her life haunts me still. I was fighting my disability at the same time I was helping her transition into assisted living and, eventually, adult foster care.
My husband, Robert, backed me with great compassion, understanding and patience, as he always has. But my mother grew increasingly paranoid as she entered her late 90s. She projected unfounded suspicions onto Robert, which meant he could not help her. This was most unfortunate for her, painful for us, and maddeningly frustrating to our ability to navigate a delicate situation.
I’ll always feel guilty about not helping her more. I don’t know how I could have.
But. We all do our best most of the time. Sometimes it isn’t enough. Or we don’t think it’s enough. Sometimes it’s all we can do.
Check out
I’ve shared these words before, but they bear repeating.
They are my mantra, my mission statement.
Take time, feel gratitude, forgive.
Remember what matters: spirit, authenticity, justice, words.
Let the work come to you. Don’t force it.
Wait, and inspiration will come, sooner than you think.
Let your little story come out and play.
Eating well is the best revenge
One final take
Fruit of the season, pears and pomegranates.
—30—
I think it fascinating the topics people ask for when asking you to write a poem. It’s such a wonderful moment of human connection that you offer. I just used the Norwegian cast on for the last project I started. I know I’ve done it before, but I had to look it up and sort it out again. (I did have to resort to a video!) That is a lot of guilt to carry about your mother. At whatever point we need it, I hope we all are able to accept help .... and that there is someone there who can and is willing to help. (Love the mushroom photo.)
I loved the first stanza of a Tiger poem, Rhinos like to ride bicycles, Kangaroos take the bus. What images ensue.
Also, the last part where you say we do our best (in caring for someone), but sometimes we don't feel it's enough. I had such an experience today at a craft faire. Wandering among the artists' booths, I came upon a elderly woman, more elderly than me. She was sitting in a chair next to a booth as if her daughter brought her along and parked her there for safe-keeping. I smiled at her and said, "That's the best seat in the house." Her beatific smile broke my heart. It went right to the sternum with its joy and pleading for more. As if she were asking me to sit and talk, like she was thrilled someone noticed her at all. Why didn't I stay and talk? I wasn't being rushed or called away. Was I afraid? And why? Her face haunts me now, her beautiful, beaming smile.