What We Saw

We were very good farmers yesterday. Max learned how to prune roses. Our landlord is responsible for the landscaping and upkeep, but his hired help have been neglecting a lot lately. I took it upon myself to cut back unruly vines and deadhead lilies, roses, daisies, and pull weeds. Our yard waste is picked up for recycling, but if I want to cut back any more plants we'll need to bring home another barrel to haul the stuff away. We swept and dusted. We tossed odds and ends. The chicas seemed happy for the backyard company, and Max and Maria were happy for the industrious garden chores. Max and Maria worked together to pull up the sad and scraggly remains of the tomato plant, then they planted green beans. Max pulled dead flowers from Lola's garden, and maybe we'll get around to planting zinnia and dianthus today.


Before doing any more farm work, we filled our water bottles and made our way to a nature trail. Recent bluff failures closed the trail we usually we take, and did not know we were headed for an extra long detour, but as usual the hike was beautiful and worthwhile.


High above the Pacific Ocean, the views are refreshing and captivating. It sure would help to have the ocean to look at, to motivate my senses and muscles, on our way up!


We hiked for an hour and a half, or as Geoff noted, for an hour and twenty-five minutes. I could kick him for being such a stickler for accuracy. Lucky for him my endorphins were up, and my legs were wobbly. lol


Like we did on our last hike, Max wanted talk about gardening. Geoff told him he would love to have a garden, because he loves to see how happy we are in the garden. Maria wanted assurance that her daddy sees how happy she is in the garden too.

William and Alex were talking about Spore. I doubt I ever blogged about "Spore" and considering the 3 years of anticipation, I should have mentioned it once or twice. Now, finally, it is available, a game so elaborate and innovative it took since 2000 to complete. William has been filling my head with bits and pieces about the ingenious ambitions of this video game for a long time and I got an even greater appreciation for it after seeing this TED video. I think this is one of those milestone moments in gaming, and it's exciting to read, "Will Wright announced at E3 2008 that National Geographic would do a television documentary on Spore, as scientists use the game to explain real-life biological, physical, and evolutionary science; this is the same documentary that will be included with Spore: Galactic Edition. He also announced a partnership with SETI... " The game is installed here, on the new computer, and I know this won't be the last we hear about SPORE.


Setting in the sun, this little lizard on the buckwheat was not too shy.


Sheltered from the sun, Maria did a fair amount of the hike on her own 2 sturdy legs. She liked seeing the sunning lizards and finding the last of the season's flowers in the dry scrub. She's convinced we are climbing mountains when we are on this hike, and I guess from her point of view, we do scale some remarkable heights.


Sometimes we don't talk at all. We just walk and see the trail ahead.


Breath deeply.


Marvel, and sigh.


Just relax.

Thank You. Muchas Gracias.


Writing about Mexico and memories felt like a private memorial, that I had to get out of my head. Part therapy, part record keeping, so that my children could understand me and how I was feeling. I couldn't leave with 1 hour's notice, at 11 p.m. Monday night, to drive 16 hours for my abuelo's funeral. I was sad enough that he died, and I think I was even sadder to realize I was missing an opportunity to say goodbye, to share my story and hear theirs. Having always felt some uncertainty about my ability to write effectively about my memories and feelings, and being reluctant to commit to saying things out loud, writing this post was liberating and personal. It also felt as though I have barely crossed the threshold of a part of my life, of a hundred stories, of things I know and believe, but have yet to give a voice to.

Blogging can be a lonely business. I've been writing for a while. Some posts are nearly pointless, and some posts are full of my deepest thoughts and happiest musings. As much as I have wanted to be a good writer, to reach people and start a conversation, I have mostly resigned myself to the puzzled looks from family and friends, and feeling like a goof. Receiving comments is a relatively new pleasure, and it is wonderful. Bloggers, you know it's true: feedback, encouragement, connection, community, discussions and exchanges are the fuel and frosting that top the blogging cake.

Thank you for your comments. You may have convinced me I can say things, say them well enough to start a conversation that we can all share. But mostly, because of what you shared with me, I felt like I had kind and tender company as I sorted my thoughts and feelings and began to say goodbye to my abuelo, to chapters and days that in some ways are forever beyond my reach. I could not be at the funeral, where they say it rained for days, and the lightning did not wait for the thunder, but lit the night sky with every percussion. I could not be there to hold my abuela and to share the grief, and the healing that comes with company. I have been to too many funerals in the last year, and I have seen enough death and loss to understand that support and compassion are a tremendous resource for comfort and courage. Thank you for reading about my abuelo, about things I am trying to make sense of, and feelings I want to hold on to. Thank you for responding and encouraging me, for being supportive and compassionate... it helps. I feel less alone.


I think I have been afraid to post again, because I was pretty sure I wouldn't be as eloquent or interesting as I seemed to have managed in my last post. What? I'm not too proud to admit positive feedback felt really good. Really good. So, maybe I will slip back into mediocrity and obscurity. Maybe I have the rough draft of the next best seller, but writing is like surfing. Some days you paddle, paddle, paddle and never get a ride.


And some days you catch a wave.


Perhaps every post won't be an exhilarating ride, but I am hooked on blogging, and I love looking through the archives and seeing my children, recalling the things they've done and said. I love reminding myself that there have been good days and bad days, and I am still around to know the difference.


Independence Day was a good day. I planned a long day at the beach with the children, expecting Geoff would work, as he usually has to, but he exchanged this day for working the weekend (which he usually does) and he joined us for an entire day of surf, sand and sun fog.


Truthfully, I love the fog. It was overcast, but warm, and it made it easier to play all day, without feeling scorched. We dug a private pool for Maria. Max, Geoff and William did a lot of bodysurfing. The beach was crowded and happy. We had chips and dip. I love chips and dip. We ate strawberries, we walked, we built drip castles.


It didn't stay crowded. By late afternoon the beach was deserted, and we enjoyed a very foggy walk, collecting all kinds of treasure along the way. Suddenly I decided to tile our shower with the smooth stones that cover our beaches. Not the shower here, at Garage Mahal. The shower in our own, future, imaginary, hopeful, some day house. I walked back to our base-camp carrying about 15 pounds of shower tiles. It's a start.


Someone got hold of my camera. Notice my relaxed, at ease expression?

Nothing's ever as easy as I think it should be. This day, this no-stress day at the beach was days in the planning and took hours to prepare and pack for. I was totally absorbed in making an idyllic, classic sort of celebration. I even envisioned presenting one of those clever fruit decorated flag cakes. So, you know, I was scurrying around, gathering towels, finding swim shorts, hats, sunblock and anticipating every need and patriotic whim. And finally, we were ready to head out. Stop for gas, and pick up ice, then the beach, and our beautiful celebration of freedom and family time. In the market I grabbed an extra bag of corn chips and a magazine to read while lounging luxuriously, and I kept noting how terrific everyone looked. Cute T-shirts, red, white and blue details, and snazzy summer sandals. Everyone was looking dressed for a holiday. It wasn't until then that I realized I had forgotten an important detail... I was still in my pajamas. 'nough said.


I let the children decorate the Fourth of July Fruit Flag Cake.


It was beautiful.


It was a very good day.

Pistol River State Beach

I feel like I am posting just for Geoff today. We were all up very early yesterday, to take him to the airport for his flight to Chicago.
Sigh.
I really wish we were with him. He's gone to be with family, in remembrance of Jim "Corm," who passed away last February. It is strange and indescribable... the countless ways our lives have changed since that sad and unreal day when we first got the news. I could hardly say what happened; it was too painful, and even now, I find that there is still a great deal of disbelief and grief.

I find myself thinking Everyone in Chicago is going to have so much fun, and we'll be missing out on all of that family time, and then I am taken aback when I realize, again, that it's a memorial, that we have lost someone. It won't be all fun and levity, and the fact that I forget is very telling of how hard it is to believe, to really know that he is gone. I do not think that time eases pain. I believe that time is what it takes to learn how to wrap the pain and hide it from our heart and thoughts, otherwise it cannot be tolerated. When I turn off the noise of everyday tasks and chores, when I quiet the daily din of rambling thoughts and remember that Corm is gone, the pain unfolds and I am devastated all over again.


I still wish we were with Geoff. Everyone will be having fun. There will be fun and healing and wonderful memories to share, new ones in the making. And even when it is painful and sad, I wish I could be with Geoff, and Ruth and Holly, Paul, with all the people that knew Corm and loved him, because time does not ease pain... family, friends, love and sharing ease pain.


I still remember the first time I met Jim and Ruth. It was 1982. I hardly knew Geoff and came to their home as a guest of a mutual friend. I think it was my huge crush on Geoff that made me take everything in and preserve it all in so much detail. Geoff introduced me to "Mom and Corm." I shook their hands, "Hi Mom, hi Corm." Even then I was struck by the familiar and easy way I felt. They had company and were finishing a spaghetti dinner, and Geoff was really excited about his sister being home. Holly had just returned from a year in Wisconsin.

I can picture the dining table, the soft evening light of summer. I can even smell Corm's spaghetti. I can remember the relief at realizing that Holly was Geoff's sister! Geoff was so sweet and attentive, and until I was introduced to her I thought she might be his sweetheart! She lent me a swimsuit, so we could all swim at the neighbor's pool. Now we share baby clothes and holidays, and sisterly love.

And in 26 years I have had the pleasure and blessing of becoming a part of a family that feels as much my own as the mother and brothers I grew up with. I was a child when I met Corm, with a child's limited perspective, and I cannot say when this changed, but I see so much more now and it breaks my heart to realize what we are missing.


My husband, his integrity and skills, his tender devotion... I can see that Corm influenced these dear qualities.

My cooking... turkey burgers, chili and spaghetti are some of the mainstays of our favorite family dinners.

Love. I can say that Corm has been a significant teacher about love. I realized this too late to thank him.

He loved music, and he could play instruments and sing... I used to sit in Geoff's room listening to Corm sing to his parrot, Pablo, in the shower. I adore this memory, and can still recall the happy sensation of enjoying those loving (private) concerts.

He loved language and art and craftsmanship and he applied himself skillfully to all of his interests and endeavors, so that his work and his home, his cooking and conversations were all artful, intelligent, well made. I will miss walking in the house he and Ruth built, appreciating the views they chose, the quality of the construction and the beauty of their work.

He loved Ruth. He loved her in private ways. He loved her with his heart on his sleeve. And it was not about flowery declarations or material gifts... it was about sharing the workload, listening to her needs, honoring her beliefs and sharing his own. His love was about being constant and dedicated to Ruth as his partner. He went to work to provide for their goals. He came home to share in the making of their dreams, to be in her company. I never heard him speak to Ruth or about Ruth without at least a hint of reverence, a protective tenderness and affection. Especially in recent years, I would be so touched by his giddy exuberance when he told me how much he loved her, cherished her, appreciated her, and it was with unchecked candor that he shared his love of his wife, and his awareness of her love and devotion to him. I thought A person could be sustained and carried through anything with this kind of respect and affection. It's a beautiful gift that he can feel this way and share these feelings and acts. And when he died, I thought How sad it is that we cannot witness this love, this outspoken regard and tenderness any more.


I think, perhaps at the memorial, in the next few days, Corm's love and devotion, his dedication, will be witnessed once more, because he touched so many of us and we can each of us carry some part of him with us. When we tell his stories, and share the memories, we will evoke the qualities that were a part of him and that he imparted in us.



I hope Geoff will come home and share many of the details of his time in Chicago, so that we can have some idea of what we are not there to be a part of. I realize that we are missing not only Corm, but in not being at this memorial we are missing all of the people that knew and loved him and that were an influence and inspiration to who he was. Even as a memorial, how can it not be a wonderful time? Everyone there is a part of a circle of people that influenced or were influenced by a wonderful person...


I really hated to leave my Mom and Ron. More than ever, I am keenly aware of the frailty of life. Nothing is constant on this Earth. I tried not to cry as we drove away, or during any of the 1,000 miles driving home... the children have seen too much of that already. I have tried to let Corm's example move more consistently in my life, so that I share my love out loud and wear my heart on my sleeve. I love as much and as sincerely as ever, but now I consciously endeavor to say what I feel, to honor what I feel and to treasure the time I do have with the ones I love. So, as sad as I was to leave, and even with my fears and worries, I found some comfort in knowing that I love my Mommy and Ron, that I have shared my feelings and said my piece... it's not the same as having them close by, being able to drop in on them any time, but it's good to love and be loved, and share those thoughts and feelings often.

On our way home we stopped at Pistol River Beach State Park. It was an unplanned break at the start of a long and arduous trip home. There are about 42 or more places that I would have loved to stop and visit, such is the beauty and attraction of the miles between here and there, and it's hard being very pragmatic and merciless about not visiting every park, viewpoint and farm stand.


Ah, but it is so worthwhile to stop, to quiet the din of everyday chores and appreciate the beauty in the world, the humor, art and language, and the people in our company. So, we watered the chickens, and found the trail to the beach. We let time pass unaccounted and played at being treasure seekers, and pirates. We planned picnics and camp-outs and noted the size of rocks, the sound of the waves. Geoff, you would love this place. We were looking for agates and imagining having a home on the forested bluffs overlooking the ocean. As happy as we were to be there, we were even more anxious to come home to you, because we love you.

We're Home


We are home, and we are dog tired.

Look What The Tide Brought In and A Full Day of Procrastination and Other Deep Thoughts


This photo and the video really belong with a post I made in January. It was low tide season... there were some great low tides last winter, and we kept making amazing discoveries. The most surprising being this shark. Was it a great white shark? I consulted the life guards in Solana Beach, after the recent attack on a swimmer. They were fairly certain it was a great white, and so were the people on the beach with us when we saw the little biter.

The shark was in very shallow water and obviously losing it's fight trying to get back the open ocean. It was fairly subdued when 2 young men carried it, in stages, back to deeper water, but if it had not been worn out, I don't think it would have been so cooperative. I guess I would say it was the size of a small, strong, willful toddler, but with more teeth. Here is the video I captured... one of those instances where I had to curb my photography appetite and comfort Maria, who was very distressed by the sight of the shark.




It was kind of surreal walking up to the pool and seeing an actual shark. The beach was not crowded. Next to us was another family, 2 college students, and 2 monks in flowing saffron robes. Everyone was concerned about the shark's predicament


Friends were asking to see the video of the little white we saw in the tide pools. Their children surf in the area, and I think most of us surf or swim in these waters too, so yes, it does give pause. I can't say whether I've decided to be freaked out about it or not. I guess I am not worried, which is not the same as saying "no biggie." I don't surf, or swim very far out. After witnessing a little blood experiment conducted in a shark tank by my brother, I can firmly say I would never swim while bleeding.


I am not the type of person that is comforted by statistics... more people are killed by bee stings etc... that sort of information only serves to make worry about more things, different things. Never bother me with replacing one risk for another; it only compounds fears. Truthfully, I could muster more alarm and panic seeing a swarm of media sharks move in and spread out... that was a feeding frenzy!





This was the final and successful attempt to get the shark back in the open water. I think that it is sweet to hear William remarking about this making 'an interesting blog post.' He knows my thoughts so well. Believe me, Chickenblog is a family effort that involves all of us in some capacity.

11:12 a.m.
Meanwhile, on the home front, things are starting to shape up. We have made inroads, sorted, reduced, diverted, recycled, dusted and spruced. The landlord inspection commences Saturday at 9 a.m., and despite frequent bouts of procrastination, mingled with depression and angst, the house is beginning to look respectable. As I cleared the dining table from breakfast, a thought bubbled to the surface: We should go out to eat, so the kitchen stays clean. No, we should stay in a hotel and go out to eat; that's the secret to keeping the house unlived-in clean. And finally, my mind produced this ultimate gem: We should move out of here. Then it would be really, really clean. Crap... I am procrastinating again.

1:11 p.m.
Paid bills. Served lunch. And hounded Alex. He needs to finish his wiring diagram. He is entering the science fair with a robot-remote controlled vehicle he has been working on. Last night he finished his report, and this morning he added the finishing touches to the illustration he made of parallel wiring. Do you know about parallel wiring? Tomorrow Alex will post on Chickenblog. And tonight we will all be at his home-school center to see Alex demonstrate his creation. All, except for Geoff, who is deeply immersed in crunch mode and working 7 days a week and coming home long after my bedtime.

After the science fair, energy permitting, I will hustle over to Linda's house for a bit of MNO... something I have not had much of this year. This means driving from point A to point D for the science fair, then driving back to point A and dropping off the boys. If Maria is still awake, she and I will head to point C for the company of friends. Point B is the place between Points A, C, and D where I stop and ask myself What is the meaning of life, and where am I going?

This may be point B: I seem to be avoiding something... must clean, must clean...

Everyday Life 30 :: 4 Outside, Over There!
Yesterday we took our P.E.outside. We were lucky to arrive in time for a wide open beach. The tide was very low and the shoreline was revealing a view of the deep. And I do mean deep... we were treated to something quite extraordinary.


Maria walked a considerable distance. Imagine her trying to keep up with her long legged brothers. No wonder she runs a lot. Her boots were perfect for a bit of splashing. "Boops," she calls them.


I love how walking on the beach relaxes everyone. Alex and William walked and talked, looping back to help Maria keep up. Max ran ahead, to this uprooted sea kelp. He was really impressed by the strength of it. He put all of his weight in to pulling the stipe before the long, lanky limb of the sea kelp broke loose.


This is the holdfast, or the root base. Sea kelp grows in a forest, which provides an amazing ecosystem... I am recalling all the wonderful things my middle school science teacher taught me. Thank you Carol.


And here we have the fronds... I think they look like a mermaid's salad.


I almost always have my camera with me, and lately when I don't have my camera William has been reminding me to bring it along. I love digital. I love that I can take just a moment to capture something pretty, or amusing or memorable.


There are a lot of sea gulls on the beach, and though I have heard them called the cockroaches of the sky, I still think they are handsome. This poor fellow is missing a leg... he is not impersonating a flamingo.


Surfers are dedicated. Enthusiastic. Devoted. Single minded. Passionate. At least this guy had something to keep out the winter temperatures. His wetsuit included a cap.


Max enjoyed playing with the length of seaweed he won in the wrestling match. Swinging it, dragging it, twisting it. He could not wear it out.


Maria did wear out. William and I took turns giving her shoulder rides.


Textures and colors and the play of light on water... I find so many beautiful sights to point the camera at.


Low tide is is always magical.


Max talked to me about sea stars and how they eat mussels. Do you know how they do it? Maybe I should have Max write a guest post... it could be his own science feature.

We thought it was time to head home, but luckily we lingered a bit longer, otherwise we would have missed seeing this shark. Uh-huh, a shark.


She (I did not see any claspers) was caught in a tidal pool, where there was not enough water for her to breath. Fish rely on swimming or the free movement of water to push water through their gils, and this poor girl was drowning.

I wish I had more photographs, but seeing a unique situation I switched my camera to film, and maybe Geoff can help me post the footage I captured.

A small and concerned crowd had gathered and we were trying to figure what to do. Maria was crying. She is not too crazy about fish and the word shark seemed to make a bad impression on her. Two young men decided to be brave and they picked up the small(ish) shark from behind and rushed it back to the surf and deeper water. It took two attempts and they were successful. Yay!

While we were looking at the shark, I thought, Gee, it doesn't look like a baby leopard shark, which are common and mild. It really looks like a shrinky-dink great white shark, but I thought that sounded too dramatic, and too unlikely. Guess what? It was a shrinky-dink baby great white shark!

Dudes, it was totally awesome. I hope she remembers us kindly, and I hope she returns to much deeper water.