Below you'll find a list of all posts that have been categorized as “Musings”
The morning started in fog. Then a slow-to-emerge sun began to take over the day so we headed to the happy place that is Cistus Nursery on Sauvie Island a dozen or so miles out of town to look for a few more native licorice ferns—specifically the Polypodium glycyrrhiza ‘Rowdy Creek’ that the Cistus folks found growing on a stony cliff in the Redwood Belt right on the Curry County/Del Norte County line of Oregon/California. I have two already and they are thriving in our front yard shady garden…
Well, the time has finally come for me. I am done. I can no longer pretend these social media platforms are harmless, are working for the overall greater good. I can no longer engage, participate, abide even though I know these sites have been good for many communities particularly writers and artists. The latest news that the CEO of the companies under the umbrella of the (very silly) company name Meta will end its fact-checking program in favor of a community-based system to determine veracity and truth is the final straw for me…
The red twig dogwood, Cornus sericea, in our backyard habitat is early to bloom this year. I have to wonder if it is because Phil, our wonderful garden helper, did his expert pruning magic with it last fall and that cleaning up somehow gave the shrub permission to gussy up and shine. Its flower start yellow then open to blooms of white. These blossoms will come to be a favorite for the wild bees living in the big leaf maple and the butterflies when they return come spring…
After days of bleak—gray, cold, wet, chill, puddles, sodden earth, wet shoes, dashing quickly from car to the side door of the house between falling drops—in the continuing interregnum, the between, the still-between—blue skies emerged on a Friday afternoon, this third day of January in the preposterous, future-sounding year of 2025. Yesterday, on its half-century anniversary since being released, I listened to the Bob Dylan album, Tangled Up in Blue, one that more than a few over the years have described as his masterpiece…
I took this photo a few days after the terrible, shameful outcome of the November Presidential election here in the U.S. Those were the days when it felt like I was walking around in a world I finally had to admit existed, one that I do not feel I belong to, a land of cruelty and anger, a population of the aggrieved and the inflamed. No longer was there the stable and reliable world I would prefer to inhabit; everything now felt flung apart, flung down, spent. And so many of us isolated and far far apart. It was a beautiful autumn here in Portland, Oregon. Many days were sunny even verging into warmth…
It rains. It pours. The atmosphere is currently a torrent pummeling down. All the world is wet, cold, muddied, gray, puddle and flow. The sky, a wash of white—no texture, no definition, one mass of socked-in cloud. That is the general feeling these last few days of autumn as we edge to the solstice, the shorter daylight day of the year, here in the Pacific Northwest…
Sometimes the questions get asked and asked and never find answers. Sometimes, time does its magical work and makes the asking of the questions less than urgent, even relevant. What is below was written a good while back. I would like to think I have made peace since then with some of this angst and churn. And age fifty now begins to seem like a long time (nearly two decades!) ago…
…
I suppose I have to start walking with a camera. I see all kinds of arty, interesting, kooky, surprising things whenever I walk around our neighborhood. I was coming down Emerson, the dirt-road-in-the-city blocks and had just returned to asphalt. There on the corner between NE 29th and NE 30th sat a small tin bucket filled with narrow fabric straps…
I am writing by hand now every day. Have been since the middle of August, my mad money spent on postcard stamps. Pick up the pen, find the message that goes on the card I am scrawling for a voter in a state that is not this one, and get to work
…
Out the window, Wednesday, there’s still life, flora and fauna, chittering nut hatches, bleating red-tailed squirrels. One of my cats sits at the base of a Doug fir, waiting, hoping, but the odds are against him, just like they are against me, too, in spite of all my pretending that I’ll figure it out, find the answer, we end up the same, dead in the end…
…
