Ordinary Beauty

I’ve just woke up from a post-root canal nap. No one has fun having a root canal, but I lucked out with being referred to Mark Freeman–who has now worked his magic on my teeth three times.

Yikes. Three times with an endodontist. In only six months. Well, a couple of my teeth had reached the point where they needed special attention, so my (amazing) dentist, Don Jayne, sent me to visit Dr. Freeman.

An endodontist is someone who becomes a dentist and then spends an additional two years studying the special needs of teeth. And right now I am soooo grateful for endodontics.

Let’s just say that if you need root canal work and you are anywhere near Seattle, call Dr. Freeman. I think the only reason I didn’t go out of my mind with anxiety while I was in the chair, is because I totally trusted him. First, my (amazing) dentist whom I trust wholly, recommended Dr. Freeman. Second, third, and fourth–Dr Freeman and his staff started taking great care of me from the get-go.

The first visit to his office was arranged because I had a tooth go crazy all of a sudden. I was out of my mind with pain (and I usually handle pain quite well) and there was a lot of telephone calling between my dentist office and Dr. Freeman’s office and me, getting things set up so I could be treated ASAP. Lisa at his office was great–she must have made twelve phone calls just to get me squared away with an appointment.

Once I was in the chair, Dr. Freeman was gentle and jovial, checking in with me, but with a light manner–and with this and that little thing, it was clear that he knew his stuff. When he started drilling and poking around in my tooth, it was even more clear that he was The Man to see for endodontry.

It’s never a good time in a dental chair, but I relaxed, fully confident that I was going to be so much better off when I walked out of there than when I walked in!!

Whirrrrr Whine Buzzzzz. He worked for a long time on my mess of a tooth, and when he was done, he kindly, quietly, recommended that I return to see him about the molar right beside it.

And that’s what we did today. Finished up a root canal on tooth number 19, a tooth that had an old root canal, circa 1975. That’s ANCIENT compared to the dental technology and techniques that exist today. So it made lots of sense to me that a “perfectly good tooth” might need fresh, modern attention.

Fortunately for me, Dr Freeman made a really good call when he recommended I see him about No. 19. Once he got in there it was obvious that 19 was going the way its neighbor had, and it was “a miracle” that I wasn’t in dire pain from it. We have before and after x-rays, and oh my, what a difference–even my untrained eye can see how much cleaner (and probably healthier) the new root canal is.

So, that’s all a long-winded way of saying, go see Dr. Freeman for your root canals! If you’ve got to go to dental hell, you really ought to go in good hands.

How many typos can you find in this cover letter (that was just emailed to my desk in response to a Help Wanted advertisement in the legal field).

To whom it may concern,

My name is ______________ and I am very interested in you job position.  Most of my legal experience is in the collection field, but I do have kowledge of King and Snohomish County courts and their rules.  I have a great aptitude for working independantly, but also excell at team work.  I have worked as both an administrative assistant and a paralegal with outstanding results.
In all of my previous employments I have worked directly with the Attorneys by preparing and filing legal documents with both the District and Superior Courts.  Keeping their court calendars and client relations.

I beleive I would be a valuable assett to your company.

Thank you for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.

Just got home from this show. Still mostly speechless. What I CAN say though, is if you can make the show tomorrow, you truly ought to go. Last show in Seattle, 2:00, Mother’s Day, May 11. Go.

Genius.

Lightness.

Inspiration.

Last night the Black-haired Boy and I celebrated the second anniversary of our first date with a re-enactment–a voyage to Cirque du Soleil.

“Voyage” seems most apt as all the sailing metaphors kick in–sail away, swept away, transported …

I love the circus. You might already know that. What I don’t know–in words–is, why. But the thought of attending a circus makes me bubble up inside and I will clap and jiggle about with a very un-mitigated joy.

So I almost cannot stand myself right now–Cirque du Soleil’s “Corteo” last night, “Aurelia’s Oratorio” on Saturday, and the opening night of Circus Contraption’s “The Show To End All Shows” in just two weeks.

I so very much want my own circus tent, an undulating spiky-topped one with stripes, perhaps orange and crimson stripes. I am scheming to make my (humble, plain) laundryroom into an ode to circus. I’ve already hung both modern and vintage circus posters in there and am currently pondering how to drape the walls to give the sense of being inside a circus tent. I wonder if I will go so far as to strew artificial elephant poop about the floor?

plastic garbage bag
wind blows slowly down the street
city tumbleweed

Oh my gosh. Just serendipitously discovered an amazing frozen concoction that has No dairy No Soy No gluten and it is crazy tasty. I recommend the Cherry Amaretto flavor (as that’s the only flavor I’ve tried so far ;-)

Did I mention, vegan and organic. Clearly, this is not sin-ful

All the work of relationships pays off when we gather around the table.

The visiting perpetrator, Andie from across the sea.

When there are THREE frozen cakes, you gotta bring out the electric knife.

Christmas, 1971. We had just moved to a little rental house in Issaquah, 495 Rainier Blvd, from our home on Capitol Hill in Seattle. That was back in the day when there were NO stoplights in Issaquah. The closest thing to a stoplight was the blinking red light above the four-way stop at the main intersection on Front Street.

Our little house was actually good sized, and the empty lot to the north of it was ours for the plundering. Mom and Dad put in an above-ground swimming pool and us kids had free-rein of the neighborhood-wandering into the hills and swimming at some odd swimming hole that was associated with the fish hatchery. We’d pack bologna sandwiches and bottles of Coca-Cola and be off for the day.

That was in the summer. Not so much fun in the winter.

I don’t know what was in their minds that winter. My brothers and sister and I, we weren’t really “children” anymore, but Santa still came to visit. In 1971, Santa brought us a little red Benelli motorcycle. It’s the first motorcyle I ever rode, and we all spent hours on it, riding in the spare lot beside our house, going around and around and around the swimming pool.

That year, there was a good 8 or 12 inches of snow during Christmas break, and each of us began our “driving” education on that Benelli, in the snow. I’m don’t imagine that’s what my parents had planned, that we would start learning to commune with motor vehicles in the snow in the backyard, but I couldn’t ask for anything better as a way to learn the nuances of an engine and wheels and the physics (and even danger) of all that.

I feel for folks who ride with me now, as I drive my little yellow car, zip zip zip, along the streets. I drive my car pretty much like I learned to manage a motorcycle, almost leaning into the turns and all.

So, back to 1971. The receipt above is obviously for the purchase of the Benelli. I found it this afternoon amongst some other old papers that I moved from their house after my parents died. I am quite keen on the turquoise blue of the paper and the ink, and that the Benelli came from Penny’s, but especially that my mom was the one who signed for the purchase. I dunno. I just think that’s very cool.

The dear Elke Macartney is one of several people in my life right now who have been spending a lot of time in hospitals, tending to the critically ill and injured. Her young son was in an auto accident recently. His girlfriend was a passenger, and the accident caused extreme injury to her, and to Elke’s car, which her son was driving at the time.

Elke spent many weeks tending to son and girlfriend–hours bed-side at Harborview and Children’s hospitals. The girlfriend made a storybook “miraculous recovery”, in no small part I know because of the love and attention of Elke and kin. Girlfriend is home now, and Elke can turn some attention to other important matters.

Below is a story she sent me this weekend. She calls it, Creating Pearl 190.

–

Life is settling down a bit in the aftermath of my son and his girlfriend’s car accident. Girlfriend Kristin is home now, well on the way to full recovery. Son Eron is recovering as well from his emotional wounds. It’s time to move on in life. The car in the accident was my newer model Ford Focus, a car I was still making payments on when the accident happened. The insurance paid off the rest of the payments, leaving me with nothing to spend on a new one.

After the accident, I was in no mood to look for a car. A generous family friend who owns a dealership nearby loaned me a safe Taurus to get around in while I looked for a car, so that helped for a while. Yet, as I began my search, I found myself anxious about the process. The cars I looked at for my budget of the $2000 I had in the bank were either rust buckets or unsafe or both, and I was feeling quite discouraged. At one point, I thought about buying a car I liked very much for $6000 , but realized that with the accident came an uncertain financial future, so putting my family into further debt was out of integrity. I felt helpless and thought I’d never find a car I could afford.

That’s when Spirit found me, sitting in a bar, crying over a drink after having looked at yet another car I couldn’t afford. “All right Spirit,” I whined, “I give up. You take it from here, ‘cause this is not working!

And just like that, the tears stopped, and I heard a very distinct, yet gentle voice in my head: “State your demands.” It said.

From me: “Huh?”

The voice in my head repeated, “State your demands.”

So I did: “All right, I want a nice car I will not be embarrassed driving, it has to be safe, and in great condition. It needs to be no more than $2000. And, by the way, I need to look cute driving in it” I threw in that last point for fun.

The next day, I looked online at Craigslist, in the Cars section, and found nothing. I went to close down my computer, but instead pressed the “refresh” button, and saw a new listing for a 1990 Audi in Bellingham (an hour from my home) within my price range. Two phone numbers were listed on the ad: one for the owner of the car, a Korean gal who spoke little English, and the other for a nice man who posted the ad on her behalf. After speaking to the Korean gal, and not understanding her very well, I called the other number and talked to a lovely gentleman named Jack. I told him my situation, and said I needed a car right away. He offered to drive to Bellingham from his home a half hour away to act as translator/transaction facilitator.

I called on a friend to drive me there, and we went to the spot on the street the car was supposed to be parked. No audi was parked there, but a nice looking white Mercedes sat in a nearby parking lot with a man sitting in it. I commented to my friend: “If that pretty car was for sale, I would buy it!” She agreed I would look rather cute driving it….

We turned around, and parked in front of the Korean gal’s house, and saw the Audi parked in the driveway. “Hmmm,” I said, “the car has been moved. I wonder what that means.” Then we looked to the Mercedes, where a gentleman got out and walked toward us. “Are you Jack?” I called out.

“Yes, he answered, “Are you Elke?”

We shook hands and looked into each others eyes. “I have bad news,” he said sadly. “My friend sold her car fifteen minutes ago, all by herself!”

“Just my luck.” I said, shaking my head.

He regarded me and then said, “You know, I feel badly about you driving all the way up here, and about what has happened to you, so I have an offer for you. See that Mercedes over there? I want you to take it and drive it for a few weeks until you find a car to buy.”

“What?” I asked, astonished at the offer. “You don’t even know me!”

“True, he said, “But I looked in your eyes, and I know I can trust you. Listen, you need a break. Please take it, drive it, and if you like it, I’ll sell it to you for $2000.”

“Let me buy you lunch” I said, and we trooped over to the restaurant, where he held the door open for me, took my coat, and generally treated me like a princess. A retired inventor, he tinkers with cars, had bought this 1988 Mercedes 190E, fixed it up, and was willing to part with it just to give me a good ride. I drove him home, then drove it to LaConner through snow and rain, and fell in love with it.

The next day I brought my German mom with me on a lovely country drive in the old Mercedes to meet with Jack and buy the car.

I couldn’t be happier or feel more abundant. Abundance isn’t creating more debt in one’s life in order to have nice new “things”. True abundance is being in integrity with life and its challenges. True abundance is meeting someone who genuinely cares and wants to make a difference in someone’s life.

By the way, I knew the name of my car immediately upon driving it for the first time: Pearl 190. She was created in a time of major irritation in my life, and is a bright pearl in my eyes.

This lovely raptor arrived Saturday morning and perched for awhile in the big leaf maple outside our bedroom window (the maple which is so very far yet from having leaves).

In the afternoon, she returned to perch in the cherry tree (and that’s the pink tone you see in the background of the photo). We watched her for about an hour, perching, hunting, swooping. She caught one mouse, but glided into our sliding glass door and dropped it–then retrieved it and flew off again to the cherry tree branch (I never thought I’d have to put WindowAlert decals at the ground-level parts of the door!).

She spent a good bit of time in the cherry tree, blending in splendidly with the color of the bark and having a nice heavy cover of cherry blossoms. The squirrels here are quite used to romping in that cherry tree, and twice a squirrel roamed very near the hawk. Her wings opened and she became extra large, and then swooped.

I am not sure if she was aiming for a squirrel snack, or if she was just discouraging the little mammals.

We were able to see that this hawk is banded. David, owner of Flora and Fauna Books just around the corner from us, had told us about a man who has been banding the Cooper’s hawks in Discovery Park, and so we have been on the lookout for any bands. Our girl today was wearing a blue band on her right leg, marked 5X and a silver band on her left leg.

Oh. And pretty much once she arrived, all the finches and chickadees and juncos and sparrows, made themselves scarce.

Just back from a visit to New Mexico. I don’t recall ever being there before, and was eager to go off to this land of vast landscapes, and spend a few days soaking in the mineral waters at Ojo Caliente.

These are the “cliffside suites” of the Ojo Caliente resort. We stayed in number 49 (7 x 7) and the room was quite nice–fragrant with the wood from the kiva fireplace. The radiant heat floor didn’t work, but hey, with a fireplace, who’s complaining.

This is the Soda springs, my favorite pool of the lot. I adore the whole thing of it–the simple roof, the black rocks at the bottom of the walls topped by the white rocks, the colored glass blocks. And, that there is a water snake who likes to visit here. I didn’t get to see the snake, but I spent a long time sitting, waiting–and the time spent was delicious.

The view while soaking in the iron pool, my second favorite. The water here comes sometimes out of a spout above a boulder in the wall, and always from beneath the pebbles at the floor of the pool. I stood on the hot hot space and contemplated the strength of the earth and the water–and their force.

100,000 gallons of water come up to the surface here from within the earth–each day. I struggle to imagine this volume, this force.

On the plateau above the hot springs are the Posi-Ouinge ruins. A short but steep hike from the hot springs gets you there.

I was awed by the number of pottery shards scattered and gathered on the ground here. This is BLM land and the area was occupied 700 years ago, and abandoned during some epidemic. Now, visitors are greeted by a pamphlet with the plea to leave the pottery shards where they are found, so that archaeologists can attempt to reconstruct this civilization. But, time and weather forces thwart this–the shards are everywhere, including in the designated hiking path, where they would be walked upon if not set aside.

So, all about the area are arrays of shards that have been carefully placed atop red stone slabs. It’s really rather eerie. And, it’s difficult to resist the pleas to leave the shards alone and to not take any. There are thousands, and clear evidence that the rains and weather are going to sweep them away.

The photo above shows just a few of the shards gathered in a spiral that has been built by modern visitors. Standing in the middle of the spiral, there is a 180 degree view of the area, and down below, the Rio Chama.

I stopped at the red light. A woman on the curb was all in her running gear, a black band wrapped at one knee and black shorts and a red jersey. Not just red, but brick, or maroon, or blood. The sky’s light was dimming so it was difficult to put an exact name on the red of her jersey.

The sky had also been dumping rain for the previous 17 minutes or so, and the woman was soaked, in spite of the red ballcap on her head.

I sat in my car and thought about her efforts to care for her body–she looked appropriately sleek, well-burnished. I thought about myself, Back In The Day–in the day when I worked my body, sometimes three hours a day, sometimes a little more.

It was good times, it felt right and good. Of course that was WAY back-in-the-day, when I was just a girl. I ran. Distance. Miles and hours a day.

My coaches were great. Inspiring. Capable of guiding young girls in healthful ways.

That was then. Running in competition. Running behind someone, running to stay ahead of someone–running to do my best, better than my last best, running to win. Not like the running that we grown-ups end up doing in our work, not that frantic Must Keep Ahead. It was something more beautiful.

I miss that spirit. Those times. My round belly shows it.

My niece turned 16 today. I remain as excited as I always have been, to see (more of) who she becomes!

None of us though, are particularly grateful for the upcoming sugar hangover.

Dear Elke,

In my dream this morning you were hosting another mentoring group, all women. We were outdoors, I think it was a large meadow. To the side were three people who were not part of the group, one of them a man whose skin was gray (paint? clay? ashes?); he was a storyteller.

You were going to teach us something new (a healing technique?) and asked me to help you by selecting one by one from the group the person you would use for demonstrating the technique. You asked me how I felt about that and I said, “Nervous”. Then you indicated a woman who was right there next to us and said, “She definitely needs this.”

But she seemed reluctant (not resistant, but reluctant). She was a very small woman and I was on my knees at the time and embraced her in a fashion meant to be reassuring but which also served to “capture” her (remember, she wasn’t resistant per se). She became even smaller and my embrace enfolded her completely. She said, “Oh, I thought you were in love with me,” as she sorted out what was going on. Then she said, “I’ll just wait and go last.”

I explained that we couldn’t know in advance when would be your last demonstration so she ought to go now, first, with the certainty of having the experience.

But then someone came and required your attention so you left. The group was momentarily flummoxed but quickly found something “useful” to do with our time. One of the members distributed very large opals, about the size of baseballs. Now it is the nature of opals that they come with their own “fire”, but our task was to hold them and amplify the fire. For most of the women, their opals did come to glow more intensely, but mine was just dull with some mild natural opal fire deep in it.

But then I turned it over in my hands and saw that on the bottom it was displaying sentences, in rapid succession. They looked quite a lot like the paper fortunes in fortune cookies, and they were changing so quickly that it was possible only to read one sentence swiftly before the next appeared. They seemed to be answers of some kind.

When you returned to the group, you asked about my rock and such, and I showed you what it was doing. You instantly ascended, rising straight up into the blue sky a very great distance.

And that’s the last element of the dream that I recall.