“Whether we are conscious of it or not, the ground is always shifting. Nothing lasts, including us. there are probably very few people who, at any given time, are consumed with the idea ‘I’m going to die,’ but there is plenty of evidence that this...

Where did the pink go? I sit and watch the sun begin to shine a rosy pink on the peaks around me. I anticipate the glow growing warmer and warmer then suddenly the light is gone. Where did it go? The light still exists but it is blocked by something at the moment, something just out of my view on the horizon. A cloud miles away obscuring the sun, perhaps. I crave to continue my worship of the pink glow but the minute the thing becomes the thing it is no longer that. I forget that magic is all around us. We crave big fiery demonstrations of magic where it’s unmistakable - and inconceivable that it could be anything else but proof of what we long for. How close are we willing to look? How quietly are we willing to listen? I look out because that’s where the view is but what if I look to the weeds sprouting up between the rocks? The pile of dirt my dogs dug up? The petals on the mountain flower?2010-06-28 (Big Purple Thistle) The pink begins to return in new places. To look out reminds me of expansiveness. To look closely reminds me of focus and of being in the moment.

“It’s a good day to die”, I say to my seatmate. Not my usual opening line but one I feel strongly about today. Tomorrow may be a different story, as normally, I am not a big fan of dying. A sense of peace and clarity...

Fingers to keyboard is my mantra for my new authors. Fingers to keyboard. And keep those fingers moving. And keep your eyes on the screen. Not on Facebook as I am doing right now...

All good things must come to an end. Not just good things, ALL things - good, bad and indifferent. In this case, it’s a good (a very very very good) thing that is ending in the form of our almost month-long vacation. Ahhhhh. So, here I sit, enjoying a cup of coffee, lubricating my brain and my finger tips and watching the waves on the Isle of Wight Bay at our friends Monty & Sara’s. It seems the weather changed over night from hot and somewhat muggy to cool and glorious. The breeze is perfection, the color of the sky just right, the feel in the air is early autumn. Fall has officially regained it’s position as my favorite season. It was bumped temporarily as I grew to crave summers in Colorado but after this wildfire season, fall is back on top. So thanks, fall, for showing up. I hear the final percolating exhale of the coffee pot signaling the arrival of more magma. I will rise for that right now but not much else. With mug in hand, I am ready. For something. For the next moment, at least. So, what am I really ready for? Thoughts swirl through my head. We return to Colorado still without a plan. Things are brewing and plans are emerging but now the layers upon which other layers depend are not clear still and our plans remain without definition.
Friendship. Kindness. Love. Connection. These are the things that get us through. Moments of contact with another human being; the willingness to stop for a moment and be with each other without agenda; snuggling on a couch; walking holding hands; a random phone from a busy concert just to check in. These make my world go round in the best way. The chaotic spin shifts to normal rotation. My head stays glued to my neck versus flying off into space. My soul is fed versus slinking away to die. Monday I went to Boulder to see Linda my dear friend from Florida whom I have known since 1990. Linda has been there thick and thin through many stages of life. And, even more importantly she loves my dogs as her own and made frequent trips to Colorado to house and dog sit when we traveled, sometimes not even seeing me. This is the first trip she had to stay elsewhere. We met in Boulder to do our usual routine of consignment store shopping, strolling and talking. I was particularly grumpy, sure at this point that a wicked case of PMS, that robs me of the ability to see or experience anything good, has become my new monthly visitor. Angsty, coming out of my skin and seriously not wanting to be around people and after a hellacious headache socked in at 10am, I began finding excuses not to make the trip to Boulder. Not only was it Linda’s last day, but I had suggested the dinner with my other Abundance circle sisters. Denise was driving from Denver and Shaya was making the vittles. Committed not to back out on my friends, I drove on. My funk took a while to lift but somewhere in the Whole Foods gourmet aisle after tasting a wafer cracker with mint jalapeño pesto, the clouds lifted. Yes, my blood sugar has been whacked - but this small sampling couldn’t have completely fixed this issue. Was it magic? Was it Boulder which is as they say “between reality and the mountains”? Suddenly, I could be with my friends. Still considered a “flight risk”, I buddied up until we arrived safely at Shaya’s where we spread out the food, sampled delicacies and I sprawled on the couch in my favorite position.
We were warned we would remember things that had fallen into the shadows of memory and that these things were emerge at the strangest of times. Seemingly shrouded in fog forever, abruptly they would materialize while we sat on the toilet far from any pen and paper or in the middle of the night where waking up doesn’t sound like a good idea. Early this morning, I remembered Mrs Vogler’s velvet stool that she made me in 1973. Blue velvet with a gold tassel and initial “K” for me - and one for my brother with an “R”. Somehow I ended up with both. Sorry Rob. Mrs Vogler fashioned this sturdy contraption using large steel dog food cans like they made in the olden days which were fastened together into a solid circle. The stool was strong enough to stand on even as an adult and I still used it regularly. It was good for reaching tall cabinets or taking a brief respite during a busy day. When I remembered the stool, the damn almost broke. David was getting ready to head out the door to Seattle and I chose not to add one more concern to his already furrowed brow. I felt the sob emerge and I swallowed it whole. Too early, not enough coffee, don’t want to feel it right now. Will that averted sob cause me problems later in my day? Should I stop and invite it back now? Mrs Vogler’s stool may not make the “Inventory list”. Couldn’t quite put a value on that other than “priceless”. It is irreplaceable, a memory lost in a fiery flame. Built to last, that stool would have been with me forever. I anticipate that items in this category will pop up for a long time. These are the things that really matter. The accumulated treasures of a lifetime.
A-funk-a-fied. That is a word. Don’t test me by telling me it isn’t. Two days of serious funk and no writing. Hmmmm. Help me do the math here. The plan was to work on my book when I am not blogging and that plan has been thwarted. Drats foiled yet again. This is a scientific experiment: how will I feel this afternoon after writing compared to my mood over the past 2 days with no writing... we shall see. I will not factor in the fact that we are seeing Face tonight in Boulder. No, I will determine my post-writing mood independent of that extraneous event. Should be a simple equation. As previously stated, this moodiness t feels like a bad case of PMS. And, it could be “that time” coupled with the fact that on the 50 side of my mid-40’s I may be entering peri-menopause which I have heard carries many many joys. Especially the “Urine leakage while coughing or sneezing.” Not. I have been agro to the max; short on patience, long on reactivity, thin-skinned and excessively tired. Overcast with only small glimpses of occasional sun to remind me it still exists. Although, these days in Colorado we no longer celebrate the sun. We now do rain dances across the state and pray for Seattle slop. And, the rain gods have been kind to us recently. The metro area is cooler than it’s been and our foothills have been getting somewhat regular baths. Of course, these baths bring lightening strikes which have started a few brush fires and caused panic among my neighbors but so far so good. No new fires in our backyard.
On the road again.  We have taken another generous friend up on the offer of a cool basement in which to unpack our bags and rest our weary heads.  We have officially (and temporarily) moved out of Flame.  Turns out the septic issue was bigger than we hoped and she must go to the shop.  Coupled with the extreme heat that sends the dogs into the wrong kind of tailspin, it was just too much.  So here we are at Jessie and Jairo’s where the dogs have been coming for years.  We met this lovely couple many moons ago when they were recommended as the perfect people to watch our house when we travelled – even more importantly, they would treat our dogs as their own and take care of them better than any 4-star doggy daycare ever would. 
Last night over dinner, we reminisced.  Jessie and Jairo have known all our animals, beginning with Jaxson, then Darby and now Roscoe and Tigger – and of course our cats too.  The dogs have stayed here many times and have their routine with the two canine residents.  Now, we have interrupted the routine a bit as they sleep in the basement with us – and we don’t rise quite as early as our hosts who wake before the dawn and are out and about taking dogs to the dog park or on strolls along one of the many fabulous trails that wind through these neighborhoods.  How is it that in the heart of the suburbs there are more trail options than we have in the boonies?  We took second shift dog walking and our two showed us around.  See that tree mama-papa?  We have peed there many times before.  See that squirrel?  He is my nemesis – I must eat him.  Now they lounge in this cool basement as we begin our workday. 
All I want to do is write.  I want to lock myself away with a big table, spread out my computers and files and papers and write my ass off.  When I am away from my computer, my mind spins and whirls with words to write and things to say.  It’s easier to write than to speak at this point.  My friends ask how I am, and before I answer, I ask if they have read my blog.  It makes it so much easier.  We have a starting place versus having to catch up on so many places and spaces.  I appreciate that it could be annoying but these are the friends who I know will be there thick and thin so they are willing to take the 10 minutes and read my words.  Otherwise, the energy expenditure feels immense.  I beg: please just read it, and then ask me, ok?  Mostly, they say ok.  My world has gotten smaller at the same time my words are reaching more people.  I haven’t spent “social” time with more than a handful of people.  It’s normal in times like this to retreat.  In retreating, I am not isolating.  I am re-grouping, re-gathering, re-forming.  And, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.  I am conserving my energy.  It is a primal need to do so.