Samhain-The Night of Thin Places

      Tonight is one of my favorite nights of the year. I love Halloween night. Not for trick-or-treating. Not for the jack-o-lantern carving, or the noise, or the excitement, or the mess. And I SURELY do not like it for the way it affects my students, today OR tomorrow.  But I love it for the ancient Celtic traditions it is founded on, and the ways I am still able to practice some of those traditions today that make me feel connected to people and times and places of long-ago. Halloween, or Samhain (Sow-in) was originally a very pagan celebration which had much to do with the end of harvest and the time of year it was held. It became Christianized, and then again secularized, and has undergone much change, until what we call Halloween today has very little to do with its ancient beginnings. I don't much care about today's version, now that I no longer have little kids  excited to dress up, go door to door asking for candy, or stay home and hand out candy to the ghosts and witches and vampires of the neighborhood. What I do like, what I can hardly wait for tonight, is that this is the night that I can be connected to all those who have gone before me, generations and generations of wise, ancient and ordered people from the lands of thin places, of doorways between worlds, of traditions and wisdom and spirituality.
     When my children were little, it was a challenge to me, one I took seriously, to never speak their names after dark. Legend has it that to call out your child's name leaves them vulnerable to being taken.  Tonight is one of the nights when the veil between worlds is thinner, thin enough to allow beings from the other side to slip through, unnoticed.  Naming your child out loud is to give those beings who might wish to take one back with them the advantage; they, too, can call your child home with them, call them by name, and just like that, they've slipped away through that doorway between worlds. It's hard to take four small, overly eager, excited children trick-or-treating around town and never say their name out loud, but I worked hard to maintain that every year.
     I also make sure our house is blessed on All Hallow's Eve. I am not sure why it is done in this particular manner, but I do know that I have always circled the exterior of our home thrice, blessing and silently naming all within, all who reside there.  I don't feel that it's pagan to ask a blessing on my home and on my family. I feel it makes sense and it gives me a sense of "tucking in" my home and family on the night that ends the light half of the year.  Usually on the day following, All Saints Day, I bake "soul cakes."  I guess, traditionally, in Ireland especially, those were handed out on the night before, tonight it would be, which is where, it has been said,  the tradition of going door to door began. But for me, time-wise, with costumes and trick-or-treating, and parties, there was just never time to do those ON Halloween, so I've always made them a day later. Perhaps not so typically traditional, but traditional to MY family, in my own way.
     So, tomorrow begins the "Dark half of the Year."  I love it, because it is when I "hunker down" inside my home, and work on projects that can be done by evening's light inside. My goal for those dark half projects are to work on something of value, of worth, to create and be able to leave behind things to show for those hours spent indoors. It is the time of year I get out my crocheting again that I put away in the summertime, and work on a couple of blankets at a time. I focus more on trying to quilt, and sew, and complete projects I've let go over the summer in favor of time spent outdoors. I write more, read more, think more, create more. I intentionally use more colors, work a little harder, try to make our home a little more warm and comfortable. The Dark Half of the year is time spent indoors without guilt, working on leaving something of a legacy behind.
     I really do love this time of year. Every month, every season, has its own gifts, to be sure, but I really do love this evening the best of all, I think.  Happy Samhain, everyone.

         THIS IS A REALLY WELL_DONE, SHORT VIDEO - WORTH THE WATCH!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaVK0aslArE

Soul Cakes

Ingredients

1. 1 cup butter, two sticks American
2. 3 3/4 cups sifted flour
3. 1 cup fine sugar
4. 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
5. 1 teaspoon cinnamon
6. 1 teaspoon ginger
7. 1 teaspoon allspice
8. 2 eggs
9. 2 teaspoons cider vinegar
10. 4 -6 tablespoons milk
11. powdered sugar, to sprinkle on top

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. Cut the butter into the flour with a pastry blender or a large fork.
3. Blend in the sugar, nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon and allspice; beat eggs, vinegar, and milk together.
4. Mix with the flour mixture until a stiff dough is formed.
5. Knead thoroughly and roll out 1/4-inch thick.
6. Cut into 3-inch rounds and place on greased baking sheets. Prick several times with a fork and bake for 20-25 minutes.
7. Presentation:.
8. Sprinkle lightly with powdered sugar while still warm.

2 Cups of Hot Coffee

     It is dark this morning. Not just the time of the morning it is, but the sky has a darkness to it that won't be repelled by sunrise in another hour. It is grey, and chilly this morning, but not yet cold. October, right now, seems hung by a fine thread, a balancing act, between leaving summer and committing to winter. It's indecisiveness, it's inability to decide where to put its mark most, is something I can identify with right now. So, fight it or embrace it, it is a dark morning. Accept it might be the best middle ground.For October. For me.
     I am up, dressed and ready for work an hour early this morning. I'm not sure why. What to do with it. I could go to school. There's plenty to do there, always an extra hour, or twenty, needed. But that would mean leaving the dogs an hour early, and I hate to do that. They're such good company, and I believe they need mine too. I stand at the front shutterless, curtainless, windows,  still bare of any coverings since I haven't finished painting the trim yet, and look out at the dark world in front of my house. The house across the street, where there are two good parents with two good kids, is lit enough so that I know they are up and getting the boys ready for school, and themselves ready for work. I know both boys will be fed breakfast before mom takes them up to school, and I know their lunches are packed, and their clothes will match, and their hair will be combed. And I know mom will kiss them goodbye in the car, at least the little one, and wish them a good day. She'll probably tell them to be good, too.
     The house next to theirs is dark. No one is up and around there. It is a different house, a different world, right next door. Those kids have it rough. No one will feed them breakfast, check their clothes, muss their hair, or tell them to have a good day. When all six kids from both houses are out on the sidewalk after school, on weekends, the playing field is level. They are all kids. When they return indoors to their respective houses, long after dark for the kids in the house on the right, they return to different countries, one at peace, the other at war, and the four kids in that house have been the casualties since their births.
     A school bus decelerates down the street to the left, and leans into the corner turn, off to pick up children from good and bad houses, and bring them to us within the hour. Another car makes the turn, its headlights piercing the gloomy dark morning, and I wonder, idly, where it is going, and whether I would like to be going there, too. Where would I like to go this morning? I don't even know.
     My second cup of coffee is poured, and I'm grateful that this extra time this morning means that I will get to drink it here, at home, with my dogs for company, and while it's hot. Most mornings I take the second cup to school with me, and by the time I'm able to drink, it's already lukewarm. I'm used to cold coffee, but it doesn't mean I like it. The sky is lightening a bit, enough to see that I was right, and heavy grey clouds are hanging grumpily above the almost bare trees across the street. There is now a light behind the two upstairs bedroom windows in the other house across the street, which means someone is awake over there, at least. Most likely the kids have their own alarms, and have gotten themselves up. I hope they have a good day. I hope they get enough to eat at school and it fills them up for awhile. I hope that someone loves them, just a little bit, today.
     Sparticus, the rooster, the king-of-my-coop rooster, for there are three, has just begun to crow. I guess the darkness of the morning has led him to a late start this day. Soon, he and his harem of hens will be out scratching in the dirt, looking for cold worms.  I hope they find some this morning. One of the cats has given herself a bath, and curled up in a tight little ball, wedged in to the back of the couch, where I would bet she will be most of the day. It is that kind of a day today. The dogs are busy chewing bones I gave them when I sat down with my coffee, and that will keep them all busy for at least another few moments. Then, as I begin my day again in public, with all the noise and chaos that I hate, they, too, will curl up and snooze the rest of the day away. Oh, they'll guard the house occasionally with their frantic and ferocious sounding barking, but when the squirrell on the Birch scampers off, or the errant stray wandering through our front yard has gone on about his business down the street, they, too, will curl up and go back to dozing until I return home eight hours from now.
     It's only been an extra hour this morning, but what a gift for my thoughts, and my heart, it's been. An hour spent with hot coffee, dogs, and my own musings, makes me realize there really was no other way to have spent this hour. Silly that I stood at the window in the dark so long looking for one, looking for some other way to have filled it. Some way that mattered more. I don't think there could have been one. At least not today.

Castle Building

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.

Henry David Thoreau
US Transcendentalist author (1817 - 1862)

 

     I went to bed last night angry, irritated and depressed. I have been chasing a dream the past few months, nearly a year now since it began to take shape. It's a big dream. A HUGE life-changing dream. It is big, and terrifying, and exciting. It makes me happy, and scared, and feel alive, finally. And yet it seems, sometimes, the closer I get to it, the more elusive it becomes. One day, it all seems possible and doable and I feel close. Yesterday, I even added another piece to it which only seemed to complement and complete it. I was "up" and excited. So excited. I've never been THIS CLOSE to something that means so much to me. JUST me. And then, piece by piece, reality starts to take it apart, and I look at the obstacles that people point out. It's ok that they do this. It is. It's reality. And you can't REALLY go off chasing dreams without some dose of reality too, or those dreams will not have any foundation to them. They'll crash and burn. I know this. I do. That part, at least, comes with age and maturity.  I've never been a big fan of reality. I PREFER dreams that seem easy!  Don't we all. Last night when I went to bed, I was ready to just say "forget it. It's impossible. It isn't going to work, and there's just no way I can make it work." That's depressing. But this morning, when I awoke, I realized that that is exactly what people WANT me to do. Even the people, some of them, who say they think it's cool, and oh yeah, you should do that... but then point out the things they see that are so impractical... in a way, I think they WANT me to say, "Yeah, you're right, it won't work," and settle back in to my singular existence here and now. I don't think they MEAN to be dream killers. I think they just PREFER reality, without the complications of trying to reach a dream. I honestly don't think a lot of people even really have dreams; at least not ones that are really important to them that they reach. I think too many people just live, day to day, in the reality they've built, or that has been built for them along the way. That's ok. I'm not criticizing that at all. It just makes me understand that because of that, people like me who DO have some sort of "out there," crazy idea of what we need to do or accomplish for our own well being are not well understood creatures. I am the oddity to most people. I get that. Sort of. I don't really understand how life can just be so boringly normal and so many people are ok with that, but I accept it. I wish there was a little more acceptance for people who DON"T fit that mold as well.

     I realized, though,  this morning that I'm NOT ready to give up. The Thoreau quote popped into my head and as I lay there in the chilly light of morning, as the day tried to begin, I realized that dreams - in order to make them work - might take hard work, might take planning, and maybe even some creativity to figure out how to put them all together, and to pull them off. I was actually kind of offended by myself this morning. "Really, Laurie? This means so little to you that you're going to let someone throw up roadblocks and you're going to back down from them that quickly? Wow. Grow up. Figure out another way. Do some more  thinking, and planning. If it's that important to you, you WILL make it work."  It would be easier with a cheerleading section, with a team to support me, to help me, to dream WITH me, without all the negatives. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't love to have that,  but that, apparently, is not how my life works.

     So, I have the dreams. I have brought them into VERY clear focus lately, way up there in the air. Now I need to get busy laying the groundwork under them to make sure I can reach them. I have lots of practical work to accomplish today - cleaning out the chicken coop and closing it up for winter, cleaning the rabbit hutch, taking a trip to the dump, sweeping, vacuuming, folding laundry, doing the dishes, hanging up clothes, etc. Those are the things that keep me grounded, today.   I'm grateful for the busy work for my hands today, so my brain can keep spinning in and out of those castles. I WILL make all this work SOMEHOW. Maybe, by the time I finish the last chore today, I'll have some new ideas. THAT'S more like it, more like the me I like, the me I believe in. I'm not opposed to practical, "get your hands dirty" work while my brain spins on, trying to add the reality element that is so needed to those awesome dreams I have. Watch me make this work!

I'm Still Here

     I'm fine. Sorry to make anyone think otherwise. I sometimes forget that although I keep a blog just for my own sake, for my own outlet, that occasionally others do read it too.
     Cardiac issues are non-existent. Had an EKG, and a stress test, and all is well. Most likely related more to pulmonary/breathing/lung function issues, which, of course, is now the next avenue to pursue. When I get around to it. I do have pretty bad asthma, and I do end up with lung issues with every time I get a cold - if not full blown pneumonia, then crackly lobes and bronchitis.  I'll get it looked into as I have time to put that at the top of my list.
     I just haven't felt like writing. Plain and simple. No time, and no motivation.  At times I think I will just STOP writing, but then, eventually, the need comes back. As it is now. So, hopefully, if I can make some time soon (ha ha ha ha ha ha.... I crack myself up!), I have a couple of posts to write up and "get back on my game." 
 

I AM Invincible (aren't I?)

Limitations. I suppose we all have them, but I have never thought that I, personally,  did. I have never said outright that I think I am invincible, or immortal, but I guess I must, deep down, think I am,  because I’m pretty much surprised by my own reaction to events this morning, in particular, and lately, in general.

I was awakened early this morning, probably about 5ish, by a pain in my left middle side. It felt kind of like when you have a pulled muscle and can’t take in a deep breath. And I could not. I tried. I rolled over, hoping that by laying on my right side, it  would ease the muscle and allow me a few deep breaths and be able to go back to sleep. I couldn’t. It still hurt.

Restlessly, for an hour, I tried lying flat, propping myself up on pillows, lying on my back, my stomach, any way I could think of, trying to get rid of the pain and catch a little bit more sleep.  The pain got worse, and then I started coughing, and I almost wondered for a couple of minutes if I had pneumonia again. It could have almost been that kind of pain. Almost. But this was different. By 6, I was having a harder time breathing, and the pain wasn’t as sharp, but more like pressure, a vice-like pressure pushing from the front and back. All I could think of was being in the middle of the wooden flower press my dad made me years ago, like a flower from my summer garden I had wanted to preserve. Weird, how pressure is pain, but isn’t really.  I used my inhaler and it seemed to make it easier to breathe, but I still couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried.

What to do. I’m not a “rush to the dr.” kind of person. In fact, truth be told, I'm a definite "foot-dragger." I thought about going to Urgent Care, but it seemed kind of odd to, not quite the right thing to do, and I was afraid I would sound like a hypochondriac. I was afraid they would think it was just indigestion, or something similar since it isn’t a really BAD pain. I guess I've gotten too used to ambulance "emergency" calls that aren't really emergencies at all.  I got up, got dressed, made my coffee, and sat, reading for awhile.

It seems to have gotten a little better, but there is still definitely SOMETHING there. I have no idea what it is. I know it must seem strange NOT to go to the hospital, but when I think of the long wait in the ER, the lack of PAIN, actual searing, down my arm or pinpointed to my chest PAIN, it seems not worthwhile.

I have a doctors appointment tomorrow morning anyway, for a rewrite of a prescription. It is one of those “waste of time but necessary” dr. visits, in order to get several prescriptions renewed. Now, I’m kind of glad I have it.  There is a huge pressure on my chest, still, not like an elephant, but more like, hmmm, a fat dog? is sitting on it. I can breathe deeply, but my chest still aches, when I do, and even when I don’t. I also have a headache now, which is probably from worrying while pretending not to.  It’s one of those murky murky areas I just don’t deal well with. If only it were more clear cut, I would know what to do. If only I weren’t “only” 49, and generally pretty healthy, and… immortal. It could not POSSIBLY be heart trouble, or worse, a heart attack because, well, I’m ONLY 49, I AM in good health, I’m only a little bit (ok 30-40 pounds) overweight, not grossly obese, I DO have a family history of heart trouble, but none at my age, it ISN”T outright sharp or searing pain, and… and… I have many things I want to do soon, including, I just found this morning, an 8k I want to run as a fundraiser for Wounded Warriors. Never mind the current issue I’m having, there’s also that damn foot thing I have yet to decide what to do about. Technically, I have surgery scheduled for September 27^th, for that, but I haven’t REALLY made up my mind what to do. There are so many reasons NOT to have it done.  And now, there’s that 8k I want to train for, and run, in November. Could I run it first, and have surgery later? Next year, maybe? Do I really maybe not even NEED to have surgery for it at all?

Yeah, I don’t really feel like going out to begin training today. I really just want today over with, and want it to be 8:15 tomorrow morning so that I can be sitting in my doctor’s office, and say to her, oh so casually, “oh yeah, besides the prescription re-writes, there’s also this other issue… yesterday morning I woke up with pain in my chest, and it lasted all day, but I didn’t really know what to do about it, so I’m checking with you now…”  at which point, she will laugh with me, and maybe schedule me for an EKG or something in a few days, when it doesn’t inconvenience anyone, and no one will think I’m foolish for having it done then, because it is “just to rule things out,” and “yeah, my doctor MADE me come for it, even though we both know nothing’s REALLY wrong.”   Yes, 31 hours from now I can ditch the headache, the niggling worry, and one of the limitations I am surprised to find I have today, and go back to dealing with the other one, that silly stupid FOOT limitation. Somehow, today, that seems far and away more preferable. At least I know what THAT pain is.

Berry Picking Time

     I've been channeling Esther the past few days. That is, I've picked blueberries until my fingers were purple and pruny, and I've frozen blueberries, and fresh peaches from the Amish, and made fresh blueberry-peach crisp and cobbler, and plain peach cobbler, and blueberry muffins, and peach scones.... well, you get the idea.

     Esther- my mom -loved picking blueberries. I don't recall a single summer that we didn't head over to Peppers, outside of Franklinville, at least once in August, often more than once,  and pick and pick and pick. She LOVED picking blueberries, and I loved eating them.While she picked, I ate.  I did NOT like picking so much, or for very long, nor did I love waiting around once I wanted to leave, which was always WAY sooner than mom wanted to leave. I so clearly remember whining to go, and she would assure me that we would, just as soon as she finished THAT bush. But then, she'd move a foot, and there would be other tempting berries, and she would have to stop and pick those, while I ratcheted up the whining to unable-to-ignore status, and FINALLY, we'd have our (her) stash weighed, pay for it, and head home. There would always be fresh blueberry muffins the next day, sometimes a pie, sometimes crisp or cobbler. Mostly I remember eating them, fresh, and freezing them for muffins over the winter. She was not a huge, or notable, baker, but she did put fresh fruits into crisps and cobblers that were pretty good.

     On Tuesday morning, before the temperature here climbed into the high 90's, I went with two friends to pick blueberries. While I picked out in the warm summer sunshine, listening to crows jawing back and forth across the field, I thought fondly of my mom. I also thought about my nephew, 34 now, whom we used to take berry picking with us, often. I remember his sweet  little face smeared purple as he ate way more than he picked.My mom used to tell me when I was little, and then  Michael P as well, that they weigh you on the way in, and on the way out, to see how many pounds of berries you've eaten!  It seems to simply be a right of passage for kids. I felt bad that picking berries is not a yearly tradition I have undertaken with my own kids. I'm not really sure why I didn't, other than simply being busy meant I often have not gone berry picking. In fact, I was pleased with myself that I actually did so this summer. It's been awhile. 

     On the way home, we stopped at one of the Amish close by who have produce advertised,  as I wanted peas and my friend wanted peaches. No peas yet, not for a few more days, so I took half a bushel of peaches home as well.

And a couple of ripe red tomatoes made for some awesome BLT sandwiches for dinner that night.

 Another one of my mom's favorites. I miss my mom and dad, sometimes more than others, but I especially missed my mom in the blueberry patch today. And while the peach cobbler bubbled away in the oven. But I'm grateful to have those memories and glad she she passed on to me a love for berry picking that has grown much more developed over the years. This time I was the one so unwilling to leave, without filling my pail. And those blueberries on the end of the row, on the way out, I stopped to pick, topped it off just perfectly

This Amish sign always makes me laugh. First, whited out now, underneath  Peaches,it used to say Home GROWEN, which, probably a tiny bit unkindly, has been the local joke for many years. Someone obviously told them, bc they did paint over it last summer.  What makes me chuckle now is that they advertise Pug Puppies at the bottom of their produce sign, and I always picture a garden full of planted Pugs... wandering down the row, picking out the best looking one, and plucking it up, like a bunch of carrots or a ripe beefsteak tomato!

NO! I don't WANT to.

     Are 49 year olds allowed to have selfish little temper tantrums every once in awhile, or is that not acceptable at all at my age?  Because right now, I very much want to. I want to just cross my arms, stomp my foot (my left one, not my right) and say "NO! I WON"T have surgery. No, No, No. I don't WANT to."  I don't have TIME for this inconvenience in my life.
     Awhile back, I don't even remember when it began, my right foot/ankle started to hurt occasionally, if I overused it with excess activity, or by wearing an uncomfortable shoe. I ignored it. I am NEVER one to rush to the Dr. at the first sign of pain. My philosophy usually is, wait and see if it goes away, or gets worse. Usually things go away. If it gets worse, then I'll check it out.
     The weekend I was at Glen Highland Farm, back in April, or May, whenever it was, I had to wear my Bogs (barn boots) a lot, because the grass where I was walking the dogs was pretty wet. I noticed that my ankle hurt a lot that weekend. Especially when I was climbing an uneven bank near the end of the route, to get back up to road level.  In fact, it hurt and burned so badly that I was afraid, for a little bit, that maybe something was broken.  But, then, once home, it seemed to settle down again.  It didn't bother me much in Alaska, not even in the same boots there. Only the day I climbed in and around the pond, jumping from tuft to tuft, it hurt some. But I went barefoot a lot there, too, in the house.
     Back at home, wearing flip flops 24/7 (every podiatrists nightmare, I know... Sorry, Dr. Scott), it was usually pretty good. But the day I wore sneakers for Field Day at school, and played a fierce game of kickball with my 5th and 6th graders, it burned so badly on my way back over to school that I was convinced, finally, there was something wrong. I made an appointment and went to see my favorite podiatrist on Monday. (He did my first foot surgery 26 years ago this fall... we've both aged a bit since then!)  He sent me for an immediate MRI, which confirmed what he suspected, and told me: my right peroneal tendon is torn, and needs surgery so that it doesn't rupture completely.
     His office, and a surgeon from there whom I don't know, called and talked to me this morning about it. It is a pretty big tear, there's no way that anything OTHER than surgery will work, and it should be done sooner, rather than later. That's when I began my denials.... "no, I CAN'T do it. There's no way. I can't be off my feet that long. I have things to do. It's SUMMER. It's my summer VACATION. From school. You know, that place I hate? I look forward to this ALL YEAR LONG..."  UGH.  I said I'd let them know.  Well, reasonably, I really have no choice. I can't NOT have surgery. The obvious conclusion is, if I don't, it WILL rupture, and it's not like I can have any kind of an active life with a ruptured tendon in my foot. So, obviously, I HAVE to do it. It's a matter of WHEN, now.
     So, truly, I CAN"T do it this summer. I am the only ride my daughter has back and forth to work 15 miles away every day, and I'm not having her quit her job. She needs it and I need her to have it. I also have that vacation in Maine in August. Selfish, I know, and I could skip that, but I don't WANT to. I really want to go. And we have to take her to college in Maine on Labor Day weekend. That would be pretty uncomfortable to go in a cast, or a boot and crutches. And what if I couldn't go at all by then? That would stink. So, now, I'm thinking, OK, yes, I'll do it, but I want to wait until September.( Or October?) I want to get my daughter off to college, get the school year started, and THEN I'll do it. I'll have to miss a month of school, at least, and I was reading a bunch of posts on Runners World from people who have had this surgery and it isn't pretty. The recovery time is not exaggerated. And it involves a lot of PT afterwards as well. S**t. I JUST don't want to do this. I hate pain. I hate pain meds. I can't imagine being laid up. I don't want to have my legand foot cut open. No, no, no, no, no. NO!!!  I wish I could go back in time, figure out when and how I did this, and NOT DO IT.  How do you get to the bathroom, or make your lunch, or let the dogs out, if you have to literally be off your feet for two weeks or more? How do I go upstairs to bed, and downstairs during the day? I will NOT use a bedpan. Don't even suggest that........
     I'll be off looking for acceptance, and trying to lose the desperate need to refuse and cry that I feel right now. I know it is not, in the overall scheme of life, more than a darned inconvenience. I do know that. But at the moment, I am feeling, selfishly, like I just don't WANT this painful inconvenience to be happening to ME. Fear and annoyance are not good companions. I'll lose them soon, and replace them with perspective and acceptance. But probably not today.