Sweet, sweet autumn…

***

It’s the weekend again, with another Farmers Market underway by the time I woke up, bringing hearty breakfast aromas to my balcony. The “fallness” in the air made it all even better than usual so I took extra time to appreciate it before the first freeze takes its toll.

We have one remaining Dove chick in residence, but we expect him to take off any time now. After his sister Dinky didn’t survive, all the groceries clearly went to Dante because he’s huge for a fledgling. He sits in the nest like a junior potentate while David and Darleen leave him on his own for long stretches of time. Lately he’s been perching on the balcony rail next to his hideout, looking very ready to get the heck outta Dodge, so our hosting days may ACTUALLY be coming to an end until spring.

As our available daylight shrinks and some of us inevitably turn introspective, I’m resolving to use the resultant melancholy and reflection as building blocks this time around. Feels like a refreshing take on things so I’m here for it and I hope the “sleep and renewal” season will be just as positive for you.

**

NOTE: Kim just checked the nest. Empty. Dante is either out for flying lessons or has said his goodbyes already. Godspeed, tiny Buddha.

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A day in the life…

***

It’s a typical HumpDay, a stream-of-consciousness stretch of time. There are days simply made for it, when that spaced-out mindset rolls in like a marine layer, the horizon is smoke-hazed for the nth week in a row, it’s neither hot nor cold outside, you’ve managed to rearrange appointments and commitments in such a way as to free up several days in a row of NO OUTSIDE RESPONSIBILITIES, meaning you can do ANYTHING YOU WANT TO DO, and now you have no clear idea what that is. Or rather, you know exactly what it is but you don’t know where to start. Or let’s be real, you’ve begun, you’re ready to move ahead, but you’re stuck. See, progress already: we’ve exposed the “smoke haze” for the smokescreen it is. You, meaning of course, I, am existentially asleep at the wheel. There, that’s one thing.

So what else might be available for providing clarity and focus since we don’t really function without those things, at least not longterm. Well, first of all this morning, the fog was clearly the fault of our coffee grinder, which growled its dying breath without doing ONE LAST TIME the only task ever asked of it. The ignominy after we’ve provided a comfy home for at least fifteen years, is what I’m thinking! Little ingrate made me add a bra to my morning wardrobe and schlep over to Grounded Coffee, where the incredibly cool young guy behind the counter greeted me with smiles and complimented my sweatshirt. My years-old pink “mom” sweatshirt with the fuzzy white heart, matching my fuzzy white head which I’d tried with only partial success to plaster down a little before showing up in public. Wow, great cold-brew though, and as it turned out a cheery way to say hello to a Wednesday. Whatever gets the molecules moving.

**

You’ll want to carefully consider the source, but I do recommend a few ABCs for getting ducks to line up. You’ll have to name your own ducks, but basic principles apply:

  • Sit with yourself, in silence or music or nature or all of the above, until you can hear yourself tick.
  • Name the thing uppermost in your conscious mind. Take your time, that thing sometimes tries to hide, for reasons all its own.
  • Ask yourself how you feel about the primary concern that’s occupying your thoughts and requiring your energy. Don’t lie to yourself, it’s supremely counterproductive.
  • If writing is your thing, or if it isn’t but you’ve always thought you might be darling at it, now would be the time to try it out. There’s nothing like seeing your own words in black & white for figuring out what you think.
  • This one’s hard, but try not to take things personally, nor yourself too seriously. That challenge speaks to every insecurity of every breathing human, so it clearly requires the most work, but I’m pretty sure getting there would be worth the cost.

If you’re this far and still envisioning an orderly Duck Line in your near future, follow me for more tips. I promise to keep you posted.

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Coming back to life…

***

It’s Sunday, just halfway through the weekend, and I’d planned to postpone this process until Monday, but my brain is already starting to coax my spirit down out of the pristine hills and back into the ebb and flow of daily living. It simply happens… we stay immersed in the magic for as long as possible but the basic facts intrude in unavoidable ways, and those thoughts we were thinking, those feelings we felt, that peace all-encompassing, start to fade and slip into the ether long before we’re done with them.

I had all sorts of thoughts going last week, following various twists, turns, and alleyways, and it seemed like I might actually be getting somewhere. It’s likely I was, so I’ll be standing by, as quietly as I can, for those same ideas to intrude again.

**

TURN UP SOUND

Thank you, Jim Creek, for a sweet piece of the Black Hills to bring home with us.

**

Now it’s time to finish unpacking.

DISCLAIMER: Kim did all of his immediately upon arrival home, so he wins again. He’s a Navy man, besides which our friend Seth surmises he was potty-trained at gunpoint, so he can’t help it. I do better with a couple of days’ decompression before getting all hasty about things like laundry and “what bag did that end up in?” Besides, I did my part while Kim was being a good citizen… I WENT THROUGH THE MAIL. That was always the biggest pain, and let me tell you… we were gone for a week and had exactly five pieces of “mail” awaiting our return. This is what it’s finally come to, the flip side being that it’s all lurking in Gmail, of course, which I’m proud to say I’ve gone a considerable way toward unpacking because I, too, can be a quality citizen.

I have only positive things to say about the concept of getting away from it all, even if it’s simply by closing your door and putting everything on mute for an hour. (Or ten minutes, as life allows.) Progress happens when we get quiet enough to hear ourselves tick.

Welcome, autumn, friend of my heart. Your melancholy echoes my goofy perpetual angst and somehow helps tame the inherent loneliness as winter sets in. I’m hoping for a nice snowy one. Is that an oxymoron?

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What does it all mean?

***

Best definition of the word VACATION: “A period during which activity is stopped for a time.” So we did it right and it was the truest vacation I’ve taken since I was a kid, when family trips mostly meant camping (with parental units doing all the work) and sunbathing. This time, in response to an invitation, we loaded up our little red wagon, bizzling through parts of four states in search of ultimate relaxation, and our destination did not disappoint. Blazing across the great state of South Dakota at a legal 80mph+ was exhilarating and the interstate is straight as a pin except for one remarkable curve somewhere close to Rapid City, so Kim was happily in aircraft-pilot mode through every mile.

We arrived at the cabin in the meadow on Sunday. Kim turned on the TV for Sunday Night Football and that was the only time it was lit up for the duration. See that front porch up there? We could have romped off to Mount Rushmore… or Deadwood… or Sturgis… or stunning caverns… or any number of other worthy activities on offer. What we did for several days and evenings, as was our intention, was sit on that lovely porch, with its perfectly-aged screen door and softly-creaking floor, and look with our eyes, and feel with our molecules. The air and water and atmosphere are pristine beyond imagination… and it was more than gratifying to experience a spot humans haven’t drained of its essence.

Kim walked most of the ranch’s 30-acre property line and followed several of the trails that cross the terrain. He let that sweet Taylor guitar ring out across the meadow… and even wrote a song in his free time. He also cooked all our meals in the cabin’s perfect little kitchen. I read a little… wrote a little… napped a little… and far too soon it was time to pack up and point the car east. Fortunately, home is never the wrong place to be, and we were welcomed back this morning with a sky-blackening, crashing, booming thunderstorm, accompanied by pouring rain. Our place of choice still loves us, and likewise.

**

Memories for a lifetime:

**

**

**

Dasher cat keeping an eye on things.

**

Manna and Midnight

**

**

Until we meet again…

**

So home we drove, past hundreds of miles of corn, soy beans, sunflowers, sorghum, and other crops, some ready for the harvesters, much that looks like it will do well to beat the first snow, all of it keeping us conscious of the basics: We’re a nation of highly-independent souls with a general yen to do right by each other. The extremes are out there but they comprise less of the sum total than we might think without benefit of direct exposure. On a cross-country road trip you’ll see it all, and we did. At a mega truck-stop somewhere along the way we were treated to a large white van blocking traffic and plastered from stem to stern with explicit advice for Joe Biden along with abject worship of the former guy. On the flip side, that was the only in-your-face evidence of division in over 1500 miles of travel, and I like those odds.

**

Our hosts for this much-needed idyll were Mark & Mary (Wipf) Zimmerman, who have been South Dakota Arts Council artists in residence for 25 years and whose art graces every part of their beautiful homestead ranch.

https://artscouncil.sd.gov/aisc/visual10.aspx

If you’d like to book a stay at the ranch:

The Cabin at Green Mountain

https://grmountain.com/

Endorsements above are unsolicited and 100% sincere. Thank you, Mark & Mary, for everything. And the Vern J. Specials were the pièce de résistance.

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Pending illumination…

***

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Oh thou melancholy well-meaning fall…

***

On a pristine September morn like this, anything begins to seem possible. It’s a sweet 66°, the sky is blue and cloudless, and Farmers Market is in full swing down the block. Our parking lot is full of #lfk peeps of every age and description, and the sourdough donut kiosk is doin’ tha biz again. They’re excellent, but our loyalties are with the local Muncher’s cheesecake vanilla-frosted rolls. I’ve added one to my birthday wish-list.

Our predicted high temp is 98° with over 70% humidity, so the benign morning will slide us into a grand funk of sweat and steam, but that’s latah today and all week… high 90s. Not a problem, just a challenge, and on we go.

First headline to cross my feed this morning was the news that Jimmy Buffett has left us for that spot where “If there’s a heaven for me, I’m sure it has a beach attached.” He was my precise age and isn’t the first of our boomer rockers to go… I think immediately of Tom Petty, a true “baby” and real heartbreak… as the inevitable future absence of each icon fully registers. They changed an entire era, those people: Queen, The Who, The Stones, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Carlos Santana, Simon and Garfunkel, Carly Simon, Stevie Nicks, a long illustrious list of influencers and sheer joy-bringers too massive to comprehend, including and especially every Black musician who birthed the genre. In a world where we can’t be sure it won’t all crumble to dust tomorrow, the goodbyes are hard. How do we let go of the people who defined our formative years when we don’t know what’s really left to us at this point? We just do. It’s how each generation survives and moves on. We do it as the ground grows spongy under our feet and the markers fade like old newsprint, we do it brokenhearted and afraid, reluctant, dragging our feet, knowing full well that this is OUR generation hanging it up and taking its leave. In a time when life in general has been nearly a bridge too far, the losses extract a toll. However, they also gird us for the road ahead, so buck up lil’ buckaroos and buckarettes, we’re not in this alone and there are miles to go before we sleep.

My somewhat saccharine but genuine ask for all of us…

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Well, would ya’ look at that…

Darleen, contemplating another sojourn on the Smith balcony.

***

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Dave and Dar are back and have refurbished their safe nest for Round Four, so summer truly isn’t over ’til the hefty girl tunes up. Wednesday night we paid proper attention to the Super Blue Moon while celebrating continuity and prolific breeders. What a joy knowing these peaceable doves have tolerated us enough to hang around all summer, and with their patient response to the cycles of life they remind us every day that we’ve 100% survived everything to this point so we should press on. This morning there’s one egg in the nest and Darleen is apparently out carb-loading for the second, all’s temporarily right with the world, and despite news to the contrary, I’m encouraged. I hope you’re feeling that way, too.

**

After a lifetime of Pollyanna-like hopefulness I’m still at it, still looking for the pony in the manure pile and believing against all odds that life is a GOOD thing.

**

Now we greet September and the season of letting go. Fall is inherently melancholy for its endings, in fact positively maudlin on my part for endless years until I finally grasped that without endings, beginnings become moot… the world, never mind the human heart, can’t contain it all. So we learn and we let go. We forever honor the past but accept its immutable status and embrace the beginnings… all of the incredible do-overs we’re privileged to encounter.

Forgetting. It’s one small grace we’re afforded… a vital ingredient of being human. If we’re lucky we don’t remember every single detail with its accompanying emotions, thus enabling us to go on human-ing until we’re done. There’s a clear way to help our friends and family with the process and that’s to provide them with less to plow through on days when the sun doesn’t shine…

**

Summer officially ends in three weeks, so our supply of sunlight will gradually decrease until spring comes ’round again… and it will. Meanwhile, brighten the corner where you are, your friends and neighbors will benefit.

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