THE OLD WOOD IN LATE SEPTEMBER

once

labyrinth blind alleys

open now a new way to see beyond

brush vine that twine to choke

young saplins drying to grow years of deadfall

cuttings trash savage bramble

neighborhood midden bags bottles odd rotted tennis balls

tires discarded sod briers

forgotten toys shingles paper rags bones

an old boat trailer flat tires hay garbage weeds

made right

wilderness spirits welcome

crepitant ghosts now a banquet table

doe buck fawn fox rare bear coyote squirrel mice chipmunks

happy family guests cats on bowed wind soaked roots

yawn up or deep beneath playful feel and migratory

flocks dine well on ruined oak dogwood wild rose walnut

hickoryberries polychrome leaves dance a reel in dapple bright

paths leading to triumphant new

light

light

light

WHAT'S IN YOUR BUNDLE?

What's in YOUR bundle?

Every child I know has carried or collected at some time or other things that delighted the child, seemed important, even magical.  I was no different.  I kept my treasures in a small metal box.  They included things as various times like small pretty pebbles, a Chinese coin, a stamp from Hungary, a polished piece of cedar from my Grandfather Judd's carpentry shop,  beads, Cracker Jack prizes, a whistle, a tiny doll's size pair of scissors, a small tin bell I found on the ground, for belling a cat my great grandmother said.  My pockets might have contained anything.  My mother had to check before she did the wash.

I recently read about the Sacred Indian Bundle, which reminded me of the 'bundles' of treasures  that I carried around as a kid.  However, to Native Americans the bundles were sacred. 

From Wikipedia:

According to Patricia Deveraux, a member of the Blackfeet tribe in Alberta, "These are holy bundles given to us by the Creator to hold our people together... They're the same as the relics from the Catholic Church. They are a demonstration of the holy spirit. They can heal people."

Sacred bundles are a powerful part of Pawnee ceremonies linked to planting and harvesting. They contain tools necessary to those ceremonies, and the rituals and ceremonies associated with them are passed from generation to generation along with the bundles. Bundles are owned by women and inherited through the female line, but can be used by men only. According to Black Elk of the Oglala Lakota, the first woman chosen to care for the sacred bundle was Red Day Woman, and all women subsequently chosen to care for the sacred bundle were regarded as holy people. The bundles may contain smoking pipes, broken arrowheads, glass beads, bison leather strips- almost any object that had meaning for the life of the tribe.

To this day I still collect bundles of odd objects. Amazing to me the meaning that is evoked by things one happens upon. A shell, a bird bone, a granite  pebble made smooth by the sea.  There is wonder in all things in Creation.  As the psalmist records in Psalm 24: The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.

I hope someday to have nothing in my bundle but healing, faith, peace and love.

So, what's in your bundle?

WHO'S WATCHING YOUR BACK?

Romans 8:18-27 Go grab your Bible and read this passage.  I know you've got a Bible stashed away somewhere!

Here's a little peek: ²² We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. ²³ Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption, the redemption of our bodies. ²⁴ For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? ²⁵ But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

I've been doing way too much moaning and groaning recently.  Youth class in Sunday School was great today, including three talkative boys.  Miracle in itself, a talkative boy. :)  And they aren't groaning today!

The focus was Celebrate Earth as a sacred plant filled with God's vibrant presence.  Now, these kids are 'city' kids.  They don't know much about Nature's Wilderness.  Not Oregon, Montana, Wyoming and Colorado wilderness.  Friends there know Nature's Wilderness.

My Sunday School class are urban kids.  But they know wilderness in their own way- wilderness as dangerous as a Grizzly bear sometimes.  Crime, drugs, harassment, sexual abuse, poverty, homelessness, starvation, etc. If they haven't personally experienced these horrors, they know someone who has.  And miracle of miracles, they know about support, listening, caring. 

We talked about humane societies:  animal rescue, care of the oceans, our planet, being green.  Some had seen the Oscar winning documentary, The Cove. 

·        I read the director of The Cove, Louie Psilhoyos' recent news: Off to Brussels today for one of the most important screenings of The Cove yet - for a requested viewing before the members of the European Parliament. Giving a voice to these creatures in the hallowed halls of humans - the word is getting out there. Thank you friends and supporters for helping push the evolution of our own species!

Have you witnessed Creation groaning, crying in pain?  Have you seen renewal?  Renewal is happening everywhere, it seems.  Against all odds.  Celebrate with me and my students the diversity, beauty and wonder of our lives, our planet.  Do what you can to ease what pain you see there.  And pray God to have hope.

"We are all called to assist the earth to heal her wounds and in the process heal our own - indeed, to embrace the whole creation in all its diversity, beauty, and wonder."  --Wangari Maathai, 2004 Novel Peace Prize Laureate

SEE-SAW SUMMER - Part Two

Home from Maine after a safe trip, thank God, due to our men who are expert drivers. Unpack at midnight. Repack the next morning and we're on the road again to go to Blooming Grove in PA for the family reunion and memorial gathering for our mother, Lois Seitzer Judd who passed away January 17 of this year. Since then we planned to have the family get together at the place in Blooming Grove, PA, where our family has its roots. Finally, the date was worked out, and family came from all over the country, as well as the Canada people. 

I'm going through the motions, but feeling like I'm moving through water. One foot; then the other.  Step by step.

Somehow the immediate family does all meet at the cemetery. Even cousin Phil and wife Rita. Hugs all around. We go to see the beautiful marker for our parents. Time passes and we realize the picnic planned by family is not going to be at Blooming Grove. Momentary panic.

Mercifully someone calls D's cell to tell us that Rev. Waltz is coming to lead us to Shafer memorial Gove where they have set up the picnic! And so we arrive into the bosom of family. What a magnificent feeling it is. Indescribable the joy of place, of family, of history, of the ties that bind us in love. Remember, Ann!, I tell myself over and over.

They had prepared a fabulous meal. We shared memories, and spoke grateful thanks for this family. Chloe meets some cows in the pasture. Good, good times!

We take our leave and gather at a house our sister-in-law Dee found in Hazelton- a wonderful place with brand new baths and bedrooms for us all. A huge fully outfitted kitchen open to the large greatroom. Dee made spaghetti and meatballs. We ate and drank, told stories and laughed. It was like a resurrection from the dead to me.

Lovely breakfast again planned by Dee. Waffles, eggs, bacon, sweet rolls. Love washes over us in waves. And too soon we have to leave to fly to all corners of the country. Bonds renewed, we affirm again our everlasting praise of God who made this love possible.

Home. Irene has claimed a huge Oak in our back field. It didn't hit any buildings.  Thank you God!  The basement is wet.  Occasion for cleaning out years of things we don't need.  Seeing on our news the terrible devastation of flooding in our area from Irene, I'm appalled at my overreaction to a nothing but a creaky used up cottage in Maine!  I'm thankful for the loving encouragement of family, church and Facebook friends.  Thank you God for this seesaw summer.

SEE-SAW SUMMER - Part One

SEE-SAW SUMMER - Part One

Often Lost between the boundaries of bein born & dyin.... We struggle...search..and occasionally find a purpose for being.. Those along the way with a friendly nod or understanding word are then SO much appreciated. For tomorrow holds a brighter promise than the darkness of yesterdays burden that we know a tiny bit better of how to carry.  --Anonymous

My mother was a worrier. I'm a worrier. They say one can inherit this trait. And did I!  Of course these days they have a name for worrying: GAD, it's called. Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

The good of it is that I feel great empathy for the misfortune of others. And these people have found me.  And when they do, they spill the beans. Beans, even those, are nourishing.  So don't get all in a knot about it. I really do care.

 The bad of this is the 'seeing' aspect, I call it. When you see and feel the pain of others to the point of feeling personal pain, or worse, project disasters which may or may not happen. No man is an island, as John Donne's famous quote described it. Like it or not, we are in it together.  You and me.

We rented a cottage Maine for three weeks in August having seen pictures of it on the HomeAway site. The rustic cottage was our second choice as the one we wanted was already rented for those weeks. The Hayes cottage description was that it is on 20 acres, lake view and access. That 'access' thing is key.  You'd think I'd learned after 40 or more years renting cottages.  Access may mean  you have to portage your boat over a cliff, or wade through quicksand to get to the lake.

The picture on HomeAway showed a grassy field down to the lake. TV, WiFi, washer dryer, three bedrooms, dishwasher, linens provided.. Sounded good, right?

D. Bought a new boat, worked through the early Spring getting it outfitted. We pictured our son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter enjoying this bright new bow rider on the lake. We packed up, loaded the dog in her crate and off we went to an idyllic vacation.

Once in Jefferson we stopped and saw Catherine and Matt's lovely new house. A happy reunion with long-time friends. It's all good. It's sunny. We're slap happy. Then off to  Nobleboro to the rental on Murang Cove. Deep on the woods, off a dirt road, bumping along. OK. Still OK. Most of the lake homes along the road are beautiful.

Then turn right, you have arrived at your destination Jill says. And there it is:  House a much more faded blue than the pictures, brush gown thick, gardens weedy. First thought. This place hasn't had woman's care in years.

Inside, still quite hopeful.  And we are slapped silent with 'rustic'. We found out later that the cabin had been dragged up the hill some 200 yards, planted, and left while the new home was being built where it once was lakeside amost completely blocking our view of the lake.  Open rafters, unwanted furniture, completely different than the pictures.

Nothing to do but bring in our stuff. The place reeks of memories, obviously; and begins to speak of these memories loudly.  We've made a mistake. We don't belong here. The stuffed parrot hanging from the rafters at the entrance and the ragged kite flapping in the breeze of the fan speaks loud and clear.  Three weeks?  Oh my God.

We crate Lola and head for nirvana which is Hannaford's Grocery on Rt. 1.  Shop for dinner and staples and dread returning to that cabin.

Try to find a place to put our stuff among the junk filled cabinets.  Manage to eat something. The coffee pot leaks. Try to make the best of it. Then it starts to rain and we're in The House on a Haunted Hill, The Shining, Friday the 13th, Harvest Home.  The mice come out to play in the dark kitchen.

Outside dying Hemlocks rain down needles, and ants are abandoning their gigantic hill which stretches the length of the front of the house. Straggly brush has grown up around the cottage, and dying Hemlocks.

The new door is a puzzle, and newish cabinets above the kitchen counter.  The back bedroom is a new addition with skylight and a circlehead window.  Another bedroom is Adirondack style, complete with crossed showshoes over the rubble fireplace in their.  Original? The rest is bare rafters, a leak in the bathroom ceiling where the walls do not go all the way up.  Whoever sleeps in the bedroom beyond will be treated to unimaginable sounds and odors.

It rains for two days.  I'm going to heaven, as this is hell sitting around in this dump, on a lumpy futon sofa with nothing to look at but the burns on the rug from the fireplace. 

There must be hundred of places like this one.  A dumping ground for stuff stashed there from somewhere else: old furniture, ancient dented kitchen pots and pans of every imaginable size, 15 or so dull knives, old cookbooks, knick knacks, hundreds of plastic containers, salt shakers, pepper, matches, packets of Splenda, mismatched dinnerware, chipped cups, glasses no two alike, but cheap not bad wine glasses. Hear the whispers of days gone past, Take it to the cabin! There is not an empty space to store our own food. When the mice find us, we store boxes of things in the ancient microwave, or the oven.

The bottom cabinets are unusable due not only because of the myriad things contained therein, but reeking of mothballs presumably to ward off mice, the droppings of which were visible there. A leak in the sink drain had everything in that cabinet sopping wet. Even my newly purchased of Clorox Clean-Up and Windex are not up to the task of making a dent in this mess. The back deck is rotting, and there is a large hole in the siding chewed by some animal.  The lattice below is stuffed with plastic- who knows to what effect?

By Wednesday, D. bravely gets to boat launched with the help of old Paul in town.  Gassed up and ready for fun. ??

Thank God for friends in town. Catherine and Matt. A retirement party for Matt's mom Nancy. Jill and Paul Huber, their kids Emily and Nick, Tom and Margie, Jason and Andrew, old Paul. They came over a few times at the beginning. Invited us out for dinner. Thank God. I tried to put a good face on the place, but it was all a lie. I hated it. And paralysis begins its slow creep.

Our kids arrived week two. Mike on Wednesday. They picked Olivia and Chloe at the Portland airport on Saturday. Paralysis turns to panic as we watch the brief weather reports. As Hurricane Irene loomed D pulled the boat and took it up to old Paul's yard. I try to be human, enjoy our granddaughter, be welcoming to our kids while panic was gathering steam in my mind.

 By Sunday afternoon trees were falling in the wind, bringing down power lines. Of course the power went off. And I have a complete panic attack such as I haven't had in years. I can't breathe or think or move. Full blown attack.

The Maine news says we've dodged a bullet.  Idiots. You are not in the middle of the woods in a ramshackle cabin, rain pelting down, roof leaking, trees toppling. We all go up to stay at Tom and Marge's house. Turns out we were lucky the road was still open.  D and I go back the next night also. Incredibly Mike and Olivia take Chloe back to ramshackle  cottage.

Finally in touch with owner Rusty Hayes, he kindly offers us the nice house by the lake, which blocked our view, for free for the last two nights. Two nice days, I'm beginning to recover. Play with darling Chloe as the D and the kids water-ski.  Chloe is a joy, and I have fun with her.  We have play tea parties.  She's talking more and more.  Precious.

Still, we decide to pack up and drive home to NJ Thursday evening a day early. I'm relieved that the nightmare of the past few weeks will actually end.  Then too, all must have seen how absolutely miserable I was. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.  Graves disease is well named.