Around 3 weeks ago, a tiny article in our local newspaper caught my eye. Three transients were found dead in a local motel room. One was a 47 year old woman whose 'identity was being withheld pending notification of next of kin.' My heart missed a beat because a homeless friend of mine, who is in her late 40's, occasionally frequents that motel.

I received word today that my homeless friend and this woman are, indeed, one and the same. I do not know the circumstances surrounding her death.

Faye came into my life about 3 years ago when she rented a storage unit at my facility. The man who drove her to the facility did all the talking while she filled out the paperwork. At that time, she avoided eye contact and I wondered if perhaps she was retarded.

Come to find out, Faye was living with her abusive, bum-of-a-boyfriend (hence the downcast eyes) and beloved cats at various campgrounds in a seen-better-days motor home. As the months wore on, I became acquainted with Faye as she began opening up to me when she paid her monthly rent.

Faye began living on the streets at age 10 when she ran away from home to escape being molested by her mother's boyfriends. She eventually had 2 children of her own, one of whom drowned as a child. CPS later removed her daughter from their home when Faye's boyfriend began molesting her.

An artificial eye and a long scar across her cheek marred Faye's striking beauty, evidence of a failed suicide attempt. She was a frequent guest at the psychiatric ward of St. Peter's hospital and went through social workers like loose change. Mental illness, alcoholism, pharmaceutical drug abuse, guilt and horrific memories haunted her daily and kept her imprisoned in a cell of her own making.

Yet in spite of her tragic exterior, Faye had a heart that was pure and kind and compassionate. She lived off of a $600/month SSI disability check which she often shared with others who were also downtrodden and alone.

My heart was burdened for Faye and I tried to help her. Once, I allowed her to stay overnight at the facility (in her motor home) and had to call 911 when I discovered she had overdosed on some of her meds. It was apparent that I was ill equipped to know how to truly help someone with her mental condition and I realized that the best way I could help was to simply be her non-judgmental friend. She didn't need my censure. She needed unconditional love.

She called me nearly every week, just to check in, and say 'hello'. We would always end our conversation with an 'I love you' and we both meant it.

Faye taught me that there are no easy answers to life's tough questions. I came to understand that the fear of being alone is so powerful that it trumps making logical decisions. I witnessed the bottomless pit of despair that a mother feels when partly responsible for a despicable act against a child. I saw first hand the cruel, self-erasing effects of homelessness, poverty and drug abuse. I came to understand how extenuating circumstances can be such that there is no societal help for some people.

May you finally have found peace. I love you, my friend.

A girls gotta have some boots

I've never been one to get overly excited about boots. Mine are utilitarian, rather frumpy but sensible; perfect for the rain and occasional snow of the Pacific Northwest.

Until I saw these, pictured on Tracy Porter's blog site.

The good book tells me not to covet my neighbor's wife or house or dog or ass. It doesn't say a thing about coveting my neighbor's boots....

Half full

Something has happened to me. I haven't yet put my finger on what it is, exactly, nor the moment 'the change' happened.

I'm happy to report that the gnawing worry that seemed ever present in my psyche has disappeared.

Nothing in my external world has changed. The economy remains a challenge. I'm working more hours, etc. etc. Yet I'm able to view life as a glass half full rather than half empty.

Perhaps I have finally learned the art of acceptance, the quiet embracing of what is. As Donald Neale Walsch so aptly describes, 'it is a non-resistance; a gentle walking into the moment, knowing that it holds for us, always, what is best for us all ways.'

If one was to grade my spirit, the feedback would be calm and even the 'h' word - happy!

What a relief.

Breast cancer awareness

I am prepared to be plastered with ripe tomatoes or have my image burned in effigy for expressing the following opinion.

'Enough already with the pink!'

October is breast cancer awareness month so pink is everywhere, from the athletic shoes worn by NFL football players to celebrity signatures, written in pink, supporting the awareness campaign.

I am not mocking (nor am I insensitive to) the plight of breast cancer victims. Cancer of any kind can be a devastating diagnosis and the journey to wellness is fraught with significant challenges.

Treating the disease, and the research associated with it, has become big business. If a cure were found, facilities would close, organizations fold, and researchers would be looking for work.

Perhaps I'm naive, but I do not think that the proceeds raised from purchasing a pink water bottle are going to prevent cancer from ravaging the cells in my body. How about we funnel a portion of the billions of dollars used for researching a cure to ways in which we can prevent the cancer from attacking in the first place?

Time to craft

A slow week at the office means plenty of time to work on paper craft projects!

Here is a 'Happy Birthday' creation for Aunt Jeanie. This is the front cover:

and these are the pages of the book. I used sleeves from coffee cups as the structure for the pages. (If you double click on the image, you can enlarge it to read the text.)

Last weekend, Nick asked for a blanket for Cooper and I discovered that although I have a small throw, the smallest blanket I have is twin sized. So, Grandma Sue will soon be working on a small flannel quilt for Cooper to use. I found this cute flannel fabric for that project.


Ever since the kids left home, Halloween has been a non-event in our household. Being as we are one of only 4 homes on a dark, dead end street, we haven't had a trick-or-treater for at least 10 years. (Plus, living in a gated compound keeps them away.) The downside is having no reason to decorate for the event.

So, I dressed up the one pumpkin I grew this year!


I'm certain Mr. Crow came from the dark, scary forest featured in the Wizard of Oz movie.....

The incredible opossum

Glynn could have been a nature commentator yesterday. No, he didn't wrestle a crocodile in a swamp but he did see 2 deer eating berries along our road and, a bit later, saw an opossum running along the fence line at the mini storage facility!

Coincidentally, a video clip educating me about the importance of all animals in our ecosystem (even those that cause us to shudder) was awaiting my viewing when I turned on my computer this morning.

Truth be told, glancing at a possum's hairless, thick tail causes me to throw up a little in the back of my throat. They certainly aren't the prettiest of creatures roaming the terrain and their bumbling gait gives one the impression that a possum isn't the 'sharpest knife in the drawer' either. They have poor eyesight which may be the contributing factor in finding so many of them as road kill on our highways.

I learned, however, that opossums are totally harmless and, because of their low body temperature, the rabies virus cannot survive in their system. They are non-confrontational and have one goal in life: food. Once a possum has met his caloric needs for the day, he sleeps. If confronted, his first line of defense is to hiss. If that doesn't work, he faints. He can remain in a fainted state for 30 seconds up to hours long. In fact, it is not unusual for an opossum to be eaten alive for this reason!

But the coolest tidbit about opossum revolves around the pregnant female. Gestation is only 13 days, after which mom births 8 or 9 embryos into a pouch, much like a kangaroo's pouch. (They are a marsupial, by the way.) The embryos are so small, 20 could fit into a teaspoon. In this pouch are 13 teats. The embryos latch onto a teat, suckling their nutrition for 2.5 months straight.

Soon the babies are too big to remain in the pouch. At this stage, one may see a momma possum carrying her babies on her back while she forages for food. This is how they learn survival skills.

The babies are weaned at 3 months and, by 4.5 to 5 months old, once they fall off momma's back, they are on their own.

The video clip showcased a possum named Clara, a house pet of a veterinarian. Being newly educated about her nature, and averting my eyes from her nasty tail, I find Clara rather cute! I wonder if Otis would welcome the presence of an opossum in our home?

Dare to dream

Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: "one can't believe impossible things."

"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen.
"When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

Lewis Carroll

Happy Birthday, Sophie!

Not a pretty picture, I know. It's Susan's 'banquet for the birds'! I've arranged my spent sunflowers such that the seeds are readily available for the birds. Thus far, the only guest I've noticed feasting is the raucous, annoying blue jay that hangs around my bird feeders like a schoolyard bully. He's beautiful to behold but his social skills are sadly lacking...

Yesterday, we headed north for Sophie's sixth birthday party. I find myself observing Sophie with a sense of both awe and sadness. She is gregariously outgoing and fearless in ways that add a panicked beat to my heart. (In her short life she has already visited the ER twice; once for stitches and once for a broken arm.) She's all about 'snips and snails and puppy dog tails' yet manages to retain a feminine sweetness and sensitivity. Her energy and enthusiasm refuse boundaries.

Unfortunately, our culture dampens this youthful enthusiasm with commands of 'hush - not so loud', 'don't talk to strangers', 'girls don't spit' and 'boys don't cry'. Our sparkling, pure essence becomes clouded and confused with expectations and soon we forget who we really are; magnificent souls rooted in the divine.

I observed over a dozen young children yesterday. (Whew, Kim! There must have close to 30 people in your small space yet no one knew it. You can do Thanksgiving after all!!!) They were all radiantly 'in-the-now' in their being-ness with no apology. Some were soaked to their skivvy's, dripping with rain from playing on the swing set on the wet, yet warm fall day. It was refreshing and inspiring, so much so that I feel the urge to dance naked in the rain. Good thing we have no neighbors!

Sister Wives

There is a new show on Discovery's TLC channel called Sister Wives. It's another reality show; one that helps us get close and personal with a 'plural' family, a family that practices polygamy.

Cody, the loving husband, appears to be attentive and fair-minded with each of his three wives. Obviously, he's no slacker and provides shelter, clothing and food for his children & spouses. The edited version of the filming shows a happy mix of cooperation and love shared freely by all.

I wonder, however, how fair-minded and attentive Cody would be if one or all of his wives decided she wanted to add another husband (called polyandry) to the family. Yet again, the patriarchal mindset is encouraged, enabled and seemingly worshiped in this strange triangular marriage. One word comes to my mind: w r o n g !

I was raised in a sect in which my outward appearance and behavior varied from the norm. When I share my experience with others, I often receive a quizzed look, that begs to ask, 'but that seems so silly! How could you believe that?'

I'm thinking that unless one was raised with and brainwashed, er... I mean accepted the concept of polygamy, there is no way one can understand or condone the practice.

The pilot episode ends with Cody sharing a 'big announcement' with his children. He is courting Amy, a woman with 3 children from a previous marriage. Wife #1, #2 and #3 are supportive and would welcome another 'sister' into the mix. (What?!) Cody wants to marry Amy. (3 wives aren't enough?) How would they feel about mom #4 and new brothers and sisters?

Wow. I have no words.....

It was a dark and stormy night...

20 years ago this month, my husband was labeled a convicted felon.

The tale begins on a dark and stormy October evening when Glynn was driving along Highway 101 north of Olympia. Predictably, a deer ran 'out of nowhere', in front of his truck and didn't live to tell about it.

The deceased deer, laying on a curve in the middle of the road, was a threat to the safety of other drivers so Glynn dialed 911. A trooper arrived quickly, radioed for help, lit a flare or two, asked Glynn for his drivers license and chatted with him while he filled out an accident report (for insurance purposes). Glynn was soon on his way home.

A few weeks later, imagine Glynn's surprise when he opened a letter and found a summons to appear in district court! I do not remember the charge but it involved an archaic & ridiculous law still 'on the books' in Washington state. When one moves to the state, the law dictates that one must obtain a valid Washington drivers license within 90 days of residency. We had moved to Washington 5 months previous.

With the assistance of a criminal attorney, Glynn managed to avoid jail time. After paying a fine, he carried the felony conviction on his record for 5 years.

20 years ago, we were frustrated and aghast at the consequences of unknowingly breaking such a ridiculous law. The attorney was shocked at the harshness of this particular law and had no clue that it was still in effect. Today, we can laugh about the incident. (R.I.P., deer....)

My advice? If one moves from one state to another, run to the nearest Department of Motor Vehicles to obtain a new drivers license!

A good day

Today, I had a good day.

Wonderful husband and I went out for breakfast. I worked in my flower beds, transplanting & creating new vignettes for next year's display. I ran to the grocery store....

There are bills to pay, a challenging economy, a high terror alert in Europe, niggling health concerns, aging parents, Otis has fleas... yet, all feels right with my world.

The truth is, right now, in this very moment, I have everything I need.

Oh, to live in the present while refusing to worry about tomorrow...