PIE

Easy to make KEY LIME PIE:
2 14 oz.  cans sweetened condensed milk
2/3 cup freshly squeezed key lime juice
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tbsp. lime zest
9" pie crust of your choice

Cut and squeeze key limes, strain,  and pour into jars

Mix all the ingredients thoroughly in a glass or pottery bowl.

Pour gelling pie filling into pie crust and sprinkle additional key lime zest on top. Cover and hill pie.

Toss the cans, store the remainder of the key lime juice, make a lime drink from the limes grated for zest- preferably add some vodka and shake with a little vermouth in drink mixer, and fill a martini glass or two.  Lick the spatula and bowl  before washing and drying!!

Yes'm it is that simple!  Joyous Holidays to all!! And to all a Great Holiday Feast!

TRAGEDY

On Friday, December 14, 2012 20 children and 8 adults died in a brutal shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School, Newtown, Fairfield County, CT, USA - a tragedy that even the coldest of hearts would not be able to avoid feeling the pain.

In these initial days of confusion and psychological shielding from the pain of this tragedy's reality, there has been considerable discussion about what happened and its root cause.

Belief systems, memories, feelings, general dysfunction have been called into question.

Was it too liberal gun laws?
Was it the absence of law enforcement at the school?
Was it some trauma the shooter had experienced which has been festering?
Was it the fallibility of the newly installed security system?
Was whole school system at fault for not teaching interventions for this form of autism?
Was it the mother's fault for having an accessible battle weapon?
Was it....?  Was it...? Was it...?

We who are not family and friends will not only be grieving in our own way for that which has wounded deeply our sense of safe place in the world, an experience which is but a recurrence of the experience of 9.11, but each of us will also be responding to our unique sense of social responsibility in our own ways.

Photo by Jane Cutler. I call this "Holy Moment". 

PHENOMENAL

I just read "Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou.

Everyone has a phenomenal woman dancing in their inner wisdom circle.

In some, she is dormant, in some she is alive.

Maya provides an opportunity to awaken her, if she is not already strutting her confident self.

"I am a woman phenomenally", she writes, " Phenomenal woman, that's me."

By this reawakening within, I'm ready for the holidays and all its accompanying stress.

""It's in the click of my heels, the bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need of my care..."

Phenomenal Women: Linda, Moi, Reggie, Kathy, Linda, at First Lake in Old Forge, a mini Mariner Scouts reunion .

DRUM

Sitting on the midnight porch, held by the intoxicating scent of night jasmine, the moon is full, and the stars shine brightly.

This full moon shines from right at the top of the sky, casting shadows only directly under the trees.

I begin tapping on my Celtic drum, which  more resembles a gypsy cymbals than anything else.

Softly, so as not to bother the neighbors (there also is a small part of me which still self-conscious about this monthly occurrence from my porch), the beat slowly aligns to a natural rhythm.

Lost in the beat of the drum, I open my half closed eyes and notice the clouds from the north slowly covering the sky and carrying with them a cold wintry chill.

The thick clouds look like the fleece on the back of a lamb, a most unusual diversion from the usual cumulus or stratus appearances.

I take a deep breath, breathing out slowly, contemplating the wonder of nature and of the drum beat.

At Stone Circle on Lake Champlain in Burlington, VT, the marking of the seasonal position of the sun.

RETURNING

This home, in a small town in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountain Range, is a huge country home, typical of the area. It originally belonged to a doctor, the waiting room there on the left side entrance.

 I loved to visit here in the winter, driving up from New York City when I was older.

  

When I was very young, it was a short car trip which I would take with my Father for a visit.

Inside, everything is conducive to a sense of being at home - the lush fabric of the furniture, the rambling hardwood floors, the many unbleached linen curtained  windows, etc.

In this home were many items of which I was familiar since I was a very young girl.

For many years there were two barrel chairs sitting in that waiting room. They were bequeathed to me because they had been my grandparents'.  I can trace them back to their sitting in their dining room by the window between a fern.

 Now they are in my home in Florida, sometimes covered with recently worn clothes.

The light inside this house was brilliant, even in the darkness of winter.

 Gee, I miss that particular feeling that accompanies actually returning and being welcome for a moment in a life's time.

GRATITUDE

On one of many treks to Plymouth, Massachusetts, I heard a story about how it was one of my ancestors who came up with the idea of Thanksgiving.

 SHE is not remembered in the history books for this - as an individual, of course.

Since it isn't written anywhere special, the truth of this can not be validated, but as we all know, even in writing, the chances depends on the source and the reason for the information.

Nevertheless, I imaged her, as a woman such as I, who walked through life with a deep sense of gratitude, if only as an after-the-fact conclusion.

In today's world,the discipline of being grateful - and it is a discipline developed - is not so easy.

However, being thankful is a life saving daily ritual for those who love life.

BOWLS

The begging bowl - a practice of ancient Buddhist monks - holds a message worth mentioning.

The monks carried their bowls with them, asking for a little bit of rice as they journeyed through the day.

At the end of the day, back at the monastery, monks expressed gratitude for the contents of their bowls.

This gift of a monk's bowl was adorned with with dragonflies and fired with a lavender ceramic glaze on the inside.

The dragonflies symbolize change of spiritual perspective.

The lavender is the color of Spirit's opening into life experience.

Eating from this monk's bowl  at day's end is to feast at a grand  banquet.

DUOMO

We turned a corner, after walking down a long  every-day street of storefronts, and encountered this.

This is Duomo - or at least a small part of it - located in Firenze (Florence), Italy.

We walked along side this Duomo, turned another corner, and there we saw more Duomo.

The building is mammoth sized.

I wondered what inspired the ancients  to have designed this overwhelming magnificence.

I wondered if the slaves who did all the work loved building it.

 I wondered how many people attended Mass here.

I wondered many questions.

Standing in the presence of Duomo brings out overwhelming wonder from within.

HURRICANE

The hurricane was way off shore , but it spanned 900 miles.

As it headed north, the rain fell evenly and gently, even with the winds pulling off moss and dead limbs from the trees.

With the window open all night, I listened to the gentle steadiness of the wind - a relentlessl ebb without the flow, a lingering whispering exhale.

The same occurred during another hurricane a few years ago.  The hurricane crossed the state, south of us.  All through the night, this gentle breathing of a wind that was ravaging the land many miles away.

Hurricanes are not this pleasant experience at all, except when laying there far from its destructive power.

There is also, of course, an awareness of suffering by those caught in the storm's way, which keeps sleep away.

From a distance, as the song points out so wisely, the wind is peaceful and for the moment, calming.

SMELLS

Almost midnight, I was sitting on the porch, hanging with the two cats.

Bo and Bo III are accustomed to schmoozing for treats about that time of night.

As  I sat there, feeling the cool breeze brush my face, I became aware that the breeze was carrying the fragrance of night jasmine along with its coolness.

Embraced by this privilege, I let this breeze give me a big old teddy bear hug. My, what a blessing!

Then I opened the bag of cat treats, only to be invaded by the tasty aroma of chicken and cheese.

 The cats came alive with anticipation. It was their turn to be blessed.

ADVENTURE

I have come to the conclusion that happiness at this age depends more on stretching beyond defined limitations than on following all the directions for staying healthy - diet, exercise, meditation,  relaxation, stimulating the brain, whatever.

There was a documentary on PBS recently which reported kayaking as a stimulus to curing cancer. The premise was that the exhilaration of kayaking the rapids has healing potential.

 A friend of mine with spinal chord injury, drove all night through a snowstorm from Reno to Sacramento, missing her strict mediation times. She was deliriously happy about her success, and was none the worse for wear.

I have been wondering what I can do to be deliriously exhilarated - not to live longer - but to break free from this package called "getting older". I'm on a hunt for a newadventure, now that the bucket list is all checked off and I'm still alive and willing to thrive.

Squirrel eating stale bread on stump in the yard.

CHOICE

Waiting all day between flights provided vast spaces of opportunity to observe everything in view.

Shopping in the kiosks done two or three rounds, typo-filled posts on smart phone access to facebook, kindle fire games played out of their interest range, and blurry eyes from reading,  voyeurism was next.

Two women were standing in line.

One had jeans, sandals, and a three quarter length striped shirt which was not tucked in - in style for the traveler preferring casual comfort.

The other woman had her hair piled high in a bun, wore a wide-striped orange and grey long jersey dress, clogs, and a denim shawl draped gracefully across her shoulders. She also appeared to be comfortable.

I compared and contrasted the two styles and considered the possible values each held in her choice of attire for the journey,  smiling at the freedom we have,  as women, to be who we want to be,  if we so choose.

DELAY

With 500 or so women in the room, a system had to be in place to service us all in a timely manner.

And so it appeared, until our order didn't come and everyone around us was served.

I caught the attention of the waiter, even though he was not the server, which resulted in he bringing us salads himself.

Then we waited and we waited and we waited. Finally, the main chef came around to get feed back on his cooking. We told him we'd like to comment, but were waiting to be served. He said we'd be served within five minutes. I pointed out that there were other tables with the same situation.

Within five minutes everyone was served.

Firstly, we all never were agitated by the delays. For the most part, the system was working and we were having fun socializing!!

The meal was exceptional. Their famous chocolate mousse would be worth the wait any day.

Obviously, a server was not assigned to follow up on the waiter's tables. Whoever was in charge did not trouble shoot, so the pattern continued.

Same is true in all systems. System problem has to be acknowledged, glitch found, solution created.

SQUEEZE

With glass of wine in hand on the porch this evening, I became aware of the "one way street" relationships I have with those I care for most.
I am the initiator of connections.
This is okay. Don't get me wrong.
My reaching out is received as welcome.
But, many times there is no response to emails and answering machine messages.
We all manifest our dreams.
I must have dreamed being alone a lot.
It's like picking up key limes which have fallen ripe from the tree.
Squeeze the juice from them and they make delicious unforgettable key lime pies.
Cut up the rinds, add sugar, boil, and "Voila!", key lime marmalade to die for.
I will dream of you contacting me now.
I can wait.

TOOTHBRUSH

The electric tooth brush - circular and swirly - got zapped by lightning.

The thing sat idle and disconnected for two weeks.

In the middle of the night, recently, it began its routine, waking the whole house - that would be me!

In order to turn it off, I had to bang the switch on the sink where the tootbrush was sitting as a reminder to be replaced.

It simply would not turn off.
I banged it on the sink. It stopped - in a few minutes began again.
I massaged the switch until it clicked off  - in a few minutes it began again.
I banged it and massaged it. I immersed it in water. I tried unsuccessfully to get the battery out.
Same result.

I dropped it off the porch onto the driveway below which didn't stop it at all.

Finally silent, I left it on the porch, ready to take down to the trash and then I turned in for the night.

This morning, opening the door to watch the sun rise, the electric toothbrush was buzzing away.

Some toothbrushes never die, hard as we try!

3 Apostles of the 12 placed in trios around the Basilica in Montreal, Canada

Sculptures 2012: Squarr Amand Steurs,
Brussels, Belgium

BRIDGE

Upon returning from a business retreat in Montreal, I copied all the pictures I took while there.

Most of the photos were, not of the meeting, but of our treks into Montreal itself.

We took a boat trip just before the sun set -saw the locks to the canals, the famous housing complex from a world's fair, travelled into the rapids,  into the yacht club where we saw an urban human-made beach and the clock tower which used to be a light house, and then a skyline view of a replica of the Empire State Building, and many more historical sites.

The guide was a high energy young woman with a wry sense of humor which she used masterfully to keep our attention.

I was most enamored with the bridge. At its tips were miniature Eiffel towers.

But, the image of a bridge and the notion of a bridge stays with me, along with the delicious chocolate from a patisserie and our trip to the Basilica on Mont Royale.

A bridge is such a necessary element of being in community today, especially when a whole city is an island..

MOON

Can't have the last blue moon for the next 15 years go by without writing about it!

After several blue moons appeared in the couple-three years following my divorce, I would say, "I'll get married again if there's a blue moon and it happens to be Tuesday!"

Well, a blue moon came along on a Tuesday, and, yes, it is true, no wedding that day!

There was something very special about this blue moon.

First off, the night before through to the night after, when on the horizon, it was huge with a golden peachy orange aura.

On all three nights, it was extra bright as it rose quickly into the higher sky.

I sat in the darkness, drumming, with other colleagues who were in other places in world, not knowing for sure if they were or not, but expected so since it was also Friday in Oklahoma.

Tree frogs sang loudly. Cats yowled around the neighborhood. Thousands of birds flew northward.

Every little thing rested perfectly in the arms of the moment of this blue moon.

Photography by Dick Umble as he sat on the porch waiting for this to come over the trees. 9.1.12

PLAY

When we were kids on the corner of the street, We were rough and ready guys, but oh, how we could harmonize..."  Remember that song?  I was very young.

The song triggers good memories of childhood.

Before seven years old, I could walk to where  my cousins' lived. One time I walked there to watch them put on a show on their porch.

Not long after, we moved to Whitesboro.

Many girls and a couple of boys of the same age lived on the street of new homes.

 I have no memory of what inspired us, but our play together included many shows.

Each show had a humorous skit, learned at Girl Scout  or church camp, singing, dancing, and instrumentals, complete with costumes and props.

Mind you, we were nowhere near the teen age  - but, my how we would harmonize.

"Heart of my heart, our friends were dearer then, too bad we had to part..."

Taken by Jean Guenther, another version of this is the Logo for
 Psychosynthesis: the Heart of Systems Transformation
Burlington, VT, June 21-13, 2013.

STORMS

Thunder storms every day now are becoming a way of life for us in North Central Florida.

Last week, a storm came from the East, the thunderhead striking lightning like a mouthful of fangs, as it crossed the lake.

While sitting on the porch watching it, lightning struck the lawn not ten feet in front of me.

Today, while driving down Route 17 to home, the regular afternoon storm appeared ahead of me, behind me, and on both sides.  

As I drove into the storm, I was observing the formation of a funnel just ahead. 

Yes, I did ask myself why was I continuing to drive into this.

My meager answer was that the west wind was blowing too fast to let the funnel drop.

So on I went, deep into the storm center, listening to NPR as I crept on down the road, not knowing what to expect - nor really caring one way or another.

Then there was the dark and stormy night, recently, in Upstate New York, driving to and through Vermont to New Hampshire. 

The GPS was our faithful guide through the familiar unknown then, too.

ROOTS

My Dad and his two brothers sang in Grace Church Cathedral Boys Choir.

Our family always attended midnight mass on Christmas Eve there.

Jeanne, who sang regularly in a quartet with Dad, was a member of this church, sang in the choir and was a soloist.

Jeanne was very much a mother for me when I was young. When she finally became mother of her own children, we assumed more of an Aunt-Niece relationship. I babysat for all three of her kids.

Later, as a woman myself and we being fifteen years apart, we became more like sisters. She was the one woman in my life with whom I shared those secrets you don't tell anyone else.

Her granddaughter ,Jennifer, now a close friend with me, grew up singing in Grace Church Cathedral.

While I was in the area for my high school reunion, I attended Sunday service.

Jennifer was there. I was with my dear friend, Linda,  and I also realized my brother was there when we all went to receive communion.

Jeanne has passed into the next realm, but I am sure she was present to experience her son, his wife, and their son and daughter singing in Grace church Cathedral as a quartet.

Only the faces and styles and configurations change through the generations.

Although, I am but grafted onto an ancient tree, I felt my roots as alive and well in Grace Church Cathedral.

EFFULGENCE

Our reunion weekend was nothing less than effulgence in the raw.

After fifty years of living, whether having known one another in the meantime or not, the energy was wild with abandon.

Our class is a healthy bunch - nice people- happy people.

Each recognition, which wasn't all that easy, was accompanied by an outburst of welcoming hugs and questions.

Conversations were filled with gratitude for the listener and the listening.

But, the dancing was definitely memorable.  Zorba energy was alive and well that evening at Harts Hill Inn as the dance floor was filled more than ever with sheer unadulterated effulgence.

How healing to dance with wild heart-filled abandon fifty years later, here at almost twilight time.

Firenze at Villa La Stella at Sunset.

REUNION

I'm getting excited about attending my 50th high school reunion. Getting reconnected with a few classmates on facebook, has increased the anticipation.

I sit on the porch mulling over what to wear. Amazing how priorities have shifted from looking good to feeling comfortable - but not totally at the expense of feeling like I'm looking good, too.

I have a million questions to ask and hope I get to ask them first. Otherwise, I won't know anymore than before about the past fifty years than I do now - I do love to talk!

Reflecting on the gap between then and now, and the whole lifes' times we've all lived, I reflected on how to greet these classmates.  Does a hug make sense?  We never hugged in high school. Does a kiss make sense?  Imagine kissing someone who you used to date?  Wouldn't that be a trip?!

A picnic, a breakfast, a dinner and other gatherings around the planned events can be nothing less than a great adventure into the unknown.

PROJECTION

Wouldn't interrelationships be different if everyone understood the fact that everything is projection. You see yourself in others is wisdom, old and still true.

I find myself, on occasion, receiving a comment on my character, personality trait, or irritation that I am to another. My response has come to be, "That may well be true, but why are you noticing with such passion?'

Campaign trail is upon us for the next few months. When I hear a candidate's speech - the part where he's pointing out the major flaws in his opponent - I ask the same well-worn question.  Too bad that candidate can't hear me and pay heed.

I sure would rejoice in listening to candidates waxing on about a glorious vision for the future and a corresponding platform for well thought through plans for the future.  I would enjoy listening to a candidate say in a totally non-defensive way, "I'm the Greatest!", as did Mohammad Ali once upon a time.

Isn't this what it takes to win - to be focused and confident in who I am and to believe in what I am proposing to be the policy?

At the Colliseum in Rome, Italy. This is where the dignitaries sat to watch the slaughter by lions of Jewish people and others.

CHAMELEON

I left my porch, went down stairs, got in my golf cart, and drove it into the shade

There I sat for a long time, watching the chameleons change color as they moved from the crepe myrtle to the green fence and back.

The sun was sparkling on the lake across the street, sparkles dancing to and fro on the slight breeze.

The weather right now is insufferably hot and humid, but the little breeze in a shady spot is refreshing enough for a relaxing sit.

Why did I leave my porch? I tore all the ligaments in my ankle area and have fractures in two or three places. The podiatrist gave me a cream for swelling and pain. It made me so sick, I wasn't sure I was going to live through it. So, I was sitting there in the shade in view of everyone in case I died. Silly? I didn't think so at the time.

Although I live the life I prefer, I am realizing that there are times at this end of life when being around people as a life style might not be preferable.

Co-housing? Certainly not an assisted living facility or going to live with a son.

A community of like souls? I will have to give it some thought.

In the meantime, no more stupid prescriptions for symptoms I already can manage with meditation and heat and cold.

ROSES

The roses I encountered in Italy were huge.

When I placed my hand, spread out around them in a wide cup, careful not to actually touch them, they filled the cup of my spreading hand.

Roses grow prolifically in Rome and Tuscany. In fact, they appear to grow like weeds.

Their aroma is not like the roses we get from the florist. Nor is it like the roses that grow in my garden here in Florida. They have a light, uplifting aroma which beckons a dance.

These roses in Italy seem to grow to be beheld, not to be picked and placed in a vase in the parlor.

Maybe, picking one rose bud,  placing it in a narrow vase on the desk, is an important role for a rose to play in the scheme of things.

Italy is full of ancient wonders, yes, but the most magnificent of all these wonders is the rose.

INSPIRATION

After two weeks in Italy, returning to my porch , I bring a new sense of belonging where I am. Images swirl through my inner movie screen so quickly and so prolifically, reflecting deeply is very difficult. 

The conference at Mondo Migliori in Rocca di Papa, the day in the Archives at Casa Assagioli, the stay at Villa la Stella, writing in the same garden where Dante was inspired to write, day at the mineral springs in Montecatini termi - massage and adventure into the grotto, walking tour through ancient Firenze, bus tour of Assisi and Cortona, visit at home of friend, Wanda and her showing me Montecatini Alto and her special place in the Chianti region, and the weekend  trip finale in Rome - to Trevi Fountain, the Colliseum, and bus tour of the city. Good food, good wine, great bread especially. 

And many experiences within those experiences.

I took opportunity at each experience to soak up the inspiration available and to renew a sense of true gratitude for being alive right here and now.

As the days now pass I will reflect more deeply, and artform the experience in its wholeness.

But, oh yes, I am indeed filled with inspiration. Actually leaving a place, having great experiences, and then returning appears to work in that way. 

This golden rose sits on the desk of Roberto Assagioli in Firenze

GARDENIA

Early morning sunrise in the balmy air of June in Florida provides a sense of belonging where I am.

A taste of juicy ripe mango mixed with the balmy air attracts a sense of being one with this earthly plane.

The cats, Bo Cefus and Bo Trey- puer and cynax - laze comfortably after breakfast, licking each other which I interpret as with gratitude for each others presence.

As I awaken more to the surrounding environment, I notice there are two gardenias abloom on their bush in the yard.

I wonder how they could have survived the torrential downpour of the night just passed.

Ordinarily,  rain causes them to brown up and go limp.

GIFT

Someday soon, I will  be meeting my new granddaughter, Madison.

I just sent a box of gifts for her and for my grandson, Chris.

The main gift is a quilt made by my cousin Dot.

When she comes to visit, I have waiting the wicker rocker, a replica of one given to my first born son, Rob.

Ii also have ready to present to her, a huge piggy bank, a wall hanging also made by cousin Dot, and a blanket which took me too long to crochet.

I hope she likes them.  But, most of all I hope she likes me.

For all the material things I might be able to give, she is surely loved as much as life itself and a precious gift which I welcome into my life.

GLASSES

Growing old is fun. Going blind is not fun.

Noticing that my eyesight was waning rapidly and believing that any attempt at being able to see better was a futile expectation, I nevertheless set out to let the optometrist give it his best.

I was tired of the frames I now refer to as "goggles". Three years ago I thought they were frames that would let me look like a  "movie star"  with progressive lenses.

I had recently begun wearing a pair of glasses which were the previous prescription - could see great from the top, but the bifocal for reading was too weak.

The end result, leaving out the whole story which led to this, is lenses of the same prescription as the "goggles", in the frames of the previous prescription.

The problem had been that the lens prescription in the "goggles" was altered by the other additions and the glare proof screen was pearlizing. I was relieved that I am not as blind as those glasses led me to believe.

The perk was the "old" frames are top of the line flexible titanium. When this was noted, I remembered that I had put out that kind of money for frames I loved that would last a lifetime (so to speak) and somehow got lost in the desire to look like a movie star!

I am still visually challenged, but, gee, I actually can see with glasses again.

ITALY

I sure am looking forward to going to Italy - the international conference, the archives, Florence and the rest of Tuscany.

I look forward to healing in the mineral springs and dancing in the same square in Assisi where St. Francis danced naked and was stoned.

A deep dread filled me this morning when it really struck me that I'm traveling alone - plans to have another colleague as a travel mate thwarted by her ill health.

I can do this.

My response is to anticipate the new friends I will meet on this journey and the many places I will see, of which I've only heard tell or seen in National Geographic or on Steve Reeves show.

I will soak up the cultural environment that inspired RobertoAssagioli to give form to psychosynthesis.

I will be inspired every moment of every day. I will be alive with beauty.

PERSPECTIVE

When I was counseling in elementary school, one of my favorite stories, one which addressed the kindergarten developmental age, was a story about a boy with a little red wagon and a girl.

The boy was accustomed to pulling his little red wagon around. It was, after all a wagon.

In the course of making friends with the girl, he had to learn the hard lesson about others having minds and hearts of their own.

Once he got it that the girl was not a little red wagon, but a new kind of interactive experience, they were able to be friends.

In workiing with people from other cultures, sometimes I have to learn that lesson all over again.

New working relationships are like a flower growing. It'll just die off and miss it's bloom  if not nurtured according to what the flower needs.

DISAPPOINTMENT

Mother's Day is both over- and under- rated.

For my brother, who sells plants, it is the biggest weekend of the year.

Restaurants are booked up even weeks in advance.

For some reason, I am usually alone on Mother's Day and this includes a long standing tradition of my children  not letting me know they are thinking of me on this day.

This family tradition began in the 60's when it was popular to challenge commercialism.

Once in a while, I get remembered and I am, of course, thrilled.

This year, Dick offered to pay for my plane ticket to go see my new grand daughter who will be born soon. I have been so exctied about the birth of this baby girl, there have been moments when I am overwhelmed with joy.

I did not expect the rejection I received when communicating with my daughter-in-law regarding my coming.

And so I am reeling with disappointment to the point of tears. I am wishing I could leave this life now instead of later and come back as someone who is welcome in her own family's lives.

But, I'll get over it very soon. I always do.

All is good.

Dick and his great gandaughter, Makenna.

JOY

After a weekend of being determined to recover 200 pix I deleted, I finally was successful.

In the process, the software which finally worked, also retrieved every pic I ever took on that camera.

The retrieval process required opening each pic manually, so when I found the most recent, I'd check each and then see where I was. They were there in clusters, not all together. So, occasionally, I'd pull up a pic from another time.

 I really enjoyed the experience of this digital way of leafing through the album of memories.

The frustration of the previous two days dissipated quickly as joy prevailed, by both the memories evoked  and from being able to access the pix I had taken the previous weekend.

And so, I sit here, project complete, sipping on a cup of tea from my Joy cup.

HOME

I just returned from traveling to Vermont and back. (Vermont is a state in the northeast USA)

While there I visited Champlain College to tour the campus where we will hold a conference in June 2013. I went to Amherst MA for a one-day psychosynthesis conference where I invited folks to participate in advancing psychosynthesis today. I participated in several spiritual events and good conversation with the woman who founded the organization of which I now co-chair and was hosted royally by this pure spirit of a woman and her husband. And I spent half a day alone in the sun both walking their labyrinth and in deep meditation.

As I sit here reflecting on this week in New England,  I am surprised at what a radical separation experience leaving has been. Not only did I grow up in that kind of environment and felt very much that I came home, but also I felt at home because of the company I was keeping. I was living in the world of Spirit, with my hosts and at the conference. 

I may live in the world of spirit in my heart, yes. But, it is a rare and cherished experience for me to share this together with others.

I have been blessed by traveling to VT and back.

Photoedited by Judi White - full moon in February. I have no idea how this came out as it did.

DAUGHTER

Two years ago, April 22, 2010,  my daughter and I reunited.

As I sat on the porch this morning, while the rain fell heavily just out of my reach, I recalled the protective shell I held securely around my emotions from the first email and phone call through to the plane ride back home. At the same time, I was feeling a kind of ecstasy as I walked around in a virtual daze repeating over and over to myself, "This is really happening. Dreams do come true."

Emotional shell on the past, Dance of Ecstasy in the present.

And now, two years later, shell cracked, dancing transformed, I let tears fall with the rain.

I contemplate this forever changed life, no longer having to yearn to know my first born child.

The yearning was endless agony carrying hopeless determination to make it real.
That same agony can also carry hope for the future.
Now I hope that she will come and visit me.
This hope is not a longing, rather a wishing for a gift which I would welcome should it arrive.

All is well.

JASMINE

No sooner did the citrus blossoms' aroma fade, then the jasmine began to bloom and fill the air around them.  Climbing the trellises, filling fences with green leaves and white flowers, creeping up guide wires, and spreading across walls all over the village, they make me wish this day, these few days, would never end.

Jasmine can become a nuisance when it grows too prolifically. I've had to perform serious surgery on vines which come up through the deck boards, to keep them from warping the wood's positions and to keep ants from making it their marching ground to the porch and straight to the cats' food.


A good trim and sculpting now and then is always a good thing for most vines, especially the elegant jasmine.  This is probably true for people as well.

13

It was Friday the 13th. I was at the ocean before sunrise,fishing for whiting and pompano. One whiting later, the sun began to rise, peeking through thick clouds on the horizon.

As the sun rose, black rain clouds overhead became visible. "Aha," I thought, "This surely is  a sign that Mother Earth will confirm the myth bestowed on us by the invasion of the Roman Empire on the Celtic world!"

Soon enough, a sheet of rain came across the ocean onto the beach, gently bringing closure to this fishing excursion. I, in sync with a perspective of the individual overemphasis that plagues our Western psyches today, was disappointed with the bummer luck brought on by Friday the 13th.

In ancient times, 13 was a sacred feminine symbol. With this in mind, I then reflected on how 13 might be a blessing at all times and Friday the 13th might be a day of blessings.  It then occurred to me that if I were Mother Earth, I would indeed be bringing the rain to quench the earth, lessening the fury of the growing number of brush fires in the area.

The sacred presence of 13 was alive and well after all as the earth soaked up the rain gratefully, receiving the promise of continuing growth this Spring.

RESURRECTION

I don't have much use for Easter today in the church. It's all about eternal life in and through this Jesus guy. Growing up in the high Scotch Presbyterian environment, Easter was a day of intense jubilation of resurrection. I do not ever recall focusing on the grandeur of the promise of eternal life, even though I am sure it was included.

What is this eternal life?  Becoming famous so you will always be remembered?  Some knowledge of the life after death that is in agreement with the notion of reincarnation?  Something got lost in the translation, for sure, even if I am a proponent of reincarnation.  The ancient bodhi tree, beginning in Nepal, snips of it repotted and transported to other parts of the world, and revered today for its lineage,  is an image worth considering. But, no sermon has come close to explaining the promise of eternal life applicably, from my perspective.

Now, I can understand having to  make a decision to painfully accept a reality in order to go on.
I can understand the healing process of totally letting go of any more expectations in order to move ahead dancing with joy in my heart.

The whole story of the journey to the cross, at the cross, the tomb, and the resurrection is what happens to us, if we will live the whole story.  It's at the "forgive them" part that I find the hardest. Yet, when it happens the pain becomes a healing time.

With that healing time comes new life possibility.  Yes, that is worth jubilant celebration.!

BIRDS

At this time of year, the window, which is just above the headboard, is always open.  I wake daily before sunrise, spending time still prone, meditating on how I will relate to the new day.

I meditate, but with an ear open in anticipation for the birds to sing.

Their music begins with one, usually a mockingbird, then others join in a few at a time until there is a full choir in concert.

The affect on a seemi-awake consciousness is more powerful than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at its best. I am not sure how long this continues. Eventually the sounds soften and seem to be more in the distance.

When resting there is definitely over for me, mostly because I am beginning to think about what I will be doing soon, I get up, put something on depending on the weather, and head for the coffee pot.

A new day begins its unfolding journey.

I follow along willingly.

TRANSITION

Bo Cefus is at least 17 years old. He was born in the woodlands of Florida's panhandle and will complete is 9th life soon here in Crescent City. He is unable to care for his hygiene very well now.

Sometimes I see him just standing where he his for long periods of time.

 He has also taken to sitting on fence posts these days, and sleeping along the top of the trellis.

Never a lap cat, preferring hunting in the high grass and along the creek bed, these days he nestles on any lap open to receiving him and settles in comfortably.

He is sitting on my lap now, as I write this blog. Every once in a while he looks up at me, as if to ask, "Are you done yet? I could use a serious massage!"

I wonder if he knows his time is near.

I wonder what he needs - what he really needs

.

KALEIDOSCOPE

I never cease to be enthralled with the continually changing kaleidoscopic images.  As a child, my grandparents had a cylindrical metal kaleidoscope.  I spent hours on end turning the end to watch the colors continually change.  The patterns seemed endless.

Today,  I was sitting on the porch with a different type of kaleidoscope. A diamond shaped tunnel ends with a long stick full of floating colors and shapes. The spectrum goes from crystal clear images to deep rose, as the color filled stick is pushed to one end and pulled back again. 

Another option is to hold it so the stick goes up and down. Shaking the colors in the stick,  or turning the end downside up from where the colors have settled, or moving the stick back and forth diagonally, all result in magnificent arrays of circular patterns.

One difference between beholding the wonder of the changing patterns as a child and playing with a kaleidoscope today is that I can see the patterns through which the colors come pouring through in all their magnificence.

Nevertheless, the wonder of it all makes for an entirely intense experience of an afternoon on the porch.

LENT

Ash Wednesday was always intriguing.  My Catholic friends went to church to get smudges of ashes on their forehead. It wasn't until I was an adult that I gave in to that long coveted ritual.

I lived in Chicago at the time and worked in the Loop. On my lunch hour, I went to a nearby Catholic Church and got my long awaited ashes. Then, also on my lunch hours, I did the Stations of the Cross for the entire Lenten period.

 The daily rehearsal of the Stations was a daily retelling of the story of the journey to the cross and beyond.

I go back often to the daily journey of that particular season in Chicago. I am reminded with each visit that the truth is, To Die is To Live.

What does that mean?

To give up expectation of what I prefer reality to be and live reality as it is can be an occasion of great joy.

PAINTING

I love to paint in acrylics. I believe we are all artists.

 I only paint images which come from deep inside my heart and soul,  each creation  an emotional expression.

One time, when I was filled with anger and frustration, I purchased 12 small canvases, and  a new set of primary colored acrylics. I spent the weekend painting swirling, unfolding circles.  Each was entirely unique.  In each painting, I evolved toward a feeling of balance.  If If it didn't feel balanced when I looked at it, I kept at it until I felt balance in the swirl.

Early in my adult life, I worked with inner city poor women, a reality which I was very close to being myself. I taught them how to paint from within and watched as their sense of self-worth improved while, at the same time, the interaction of colors on their canvases became less muddied.

 At the time I didn't know what I was doing.

Maybe I don't know what I am doing even now. Nevertheless, I encourage free form painting of images that come from heart and soul space.

The inner artist within each of us can paint,  unfolding images from within, onto a canvas.

Recently at the CC farmer's market we provided an artist's corner.

Kids of all ages came over to paint their hearts away.

Only in CC can you come and paint your feelings in acrylics on donated newsprint!