Tag Archives: Writing

Sleeping in the Forest

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The full moon and lunar eclipse again wreaked havoc with my sleep – I woke up several times seemingly for no reason, but I looked out the window and said “goodnight, moon“, as if I were in Margaret Wise Brown’s classic book where the bunny says goodnight to various objects and creatures before drifting off to sleep. 

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better. –Mary Oliver

Cinderella by Frances Brundage

A Lagoon Swan and a History Lesson

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A few photos to memorialize January 2024.

This is my favorite, a swan pedal boat on Agua Hedionda Lagoon. It’s an activity high on the list when the Angels visit this summer. Doesn’t that look like a lot of fun?

Now I’m standing on a path with a view of the trestle bridge and a peek of a blue Pacific ocean. Do any locals know my specific location? I bet not, ‘cos it’s a secret.

After walking all the way around the lagoon, this is a look to the east and a very low tide…

If you block out the electrical poles and the road, it’s easy to transport yourself back in time to when this land was the home of the indigenous Kumeyaay Indian Nation.

This is where they lived, fished, gathered berries, wove baskets, and buried their families. They lived in small family groups which had to move frequently to find new sources of food and water. Each clan wintered in a sheltered valley and migrated into the mountains in the spring.

It’s sacred land and should stay that way in perpetuity.

Learn more here: https://www.kumeyaay.com/the-kumeyaay-millenium.html#:~:text=Kumeyaay%20fished%2C%20hunted%20deer%20and,created%20watersheds%20and%20stored%20groundwater.

Brutal Honesty

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“Grandma, what’s THIS?”

Angel Girl asks the question as she squeezes the back of my upper arm.

“Is that FAT?”

“Why is your arm so FAT right there?”

“Hey, T, come see Grandma’s FAT!”

That’s a call to action no big brother could resist. Angel Boy runs in, takes a hunk of the back of my upper arm and confirms his sister’s diagnosis.

“That’s a lot of fat, Grandma!”

I hear the unmistakeable sound of the original Angel Boy snickering in the other room. I bet it’s all deja vu for him as he must recall torturing me the same way.

Out of the mouths of babes, right?

I’m shaking my head; the apple definitely doesn’t fall far from the tree, not with these guys.

“Oh jeez, it’s SKIN, girl. Everyone has SKIN.”

She lifts her own perfectly formed and toned upper arm to show me. “I don’t. My arm doesn’t look like that.”

Mom chimes in, “Wait until you’re older. Come here and help me with breakfast. Let Grandma finish dressing!”

Her brother lifts his wiry arm (built just like his dad)… “Not me either, Grandma. See MY arm?”

I query the other grownups, “Where did she learn all this fat shaming? Sheesh, I thought nowadays children learned to be inclusive and accepting of all of our differences. What’s up with this?”

While I’m speaking, Angel Girl is following me around, squeezing my arms and laughing hysterically. I can’t help it, now I’m laughing, too–because, at the end of the day, it’s just funny. She’s always been hyperfocused and hypercritical of my each and every detail –from my hair to my shoes, and this is no different.

“Jeez Louise, girl, goodness gracious sakes alive, you’re killing me.”

She’s not being rude, if that’s your conclusion–she would never intend to hurt my feelings – it’s simply a case of speaking her truth. I’m one thousand percent sure that she would naturally censor herself with her pre-K classmates, but I’m different, and it’s OK to practice life skills on me.

I’m her pet project, the Little Grandma, with apparently endless patience.

Both of the Angel Kids are fascinated by my diminutive size…

“My hands are almost as big as yours, Grandma!” (This is a continual hand-to-hand ritual measurement every time we see each other to gauge how much they’ve grown.)
“Look, I can wear your shoes now!”
“Can I have your Hello Kitty shirt, Grandma! It fits ME!”
“Why are you so small?”
“Stand still! I am LITERALLY almost as tall as you are!”
And that’s true. I’m five feet and that 7.5 year-old truly is nearly my size.

That’s the time I tell them that the best presents come in small packages, but since that’s not their life experience, they shake their heads and laugh.

Thanks to Angel Girl’s eagle eyes, I have to silently agree that I need to focus more work on my triceps.

Brutal honesty. BRUTAL. Brutally honest.

Festival of Lights | Happy Hanukkah! | Chag Sameach 🕎 

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Tonight’s the first night of Hanukkah and Hello Kitty reminds us to let our light shine!

Our Jewish Festival of Lights lasts for eight days and nights in honor of a 2,000-year-old miracle in which light won out over darkness.

During Hanukkah 1931, Rachel Posner, wife of Rabbi Dr. Akiva Posner, took this photo of the family Hanukkah menorah from the window ledge of the family home looking out on to the building across the road decorated with Nazi flags.

While it’s definitely a time for serious reflection, it’s also all about fun with latkes, gold coins, dreidels, lots of presents, and this iconic song by Adam Sandler:

Last year’s post about Hanukkah has a lot more info about the historical significance https://enchantedseashells.com/2022/12/19/whats-hanukkah-all-about/

Searching

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“I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.” — Emily Dickinson

Curated from Pinterest. Unknown. Credit to the artist.

Love Light Glow

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This poem by Athey Thompson reminds me of the book I like so much, The Bowl of Light… https://enchantedseashells.com/2022/12/15/what-im-reading-the-bowl-of-light/

She held within her hands
A forever glowing light
Filled with love
O how it shined so bright
And everywhere she did go
Whether it be near or far
She left a little
Of her delicate, loving light
For everyone’s
Delight - Athey Thompson


In my own little rose-colored fantasy world, I wish I was wearing a sheer gossamer gown with butterfly wings so that I could share love and sparkles with all the flowers.

Artist unknown

A Box of Nothing

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I rescued this treasure at the thrift store, an adorable penguin box crafted of Capiz shells from the Philippines. Used extensively for jewelry and even window panes, it’s the shell of the oyster, Placuna placenta.

The way the light hits it is stunning and artistic for such a small thing.

I love little boxes.

And bowls I can fill with owl and hawk feathers I discover in my garden or on walks.

This sort of reminds me of Mary Oliver, “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

No darkness here as you can see, but I guess I’ll have to fill my box of nothing with something, probably and predictably rocks or seashells, and then it will no longer be a lonely box of nothing.

My Big Blue Dumpster Debacle

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Yesterday’s bizarre event gives a whole new meaning to dumpster diving.

Driving home from a few errands, I was about a block away when I noticed a GIGANTIC truck blocking the street, backing a GIGANTIC dumpster into someone’s driveway.

I first thought to myself, “I wonder who’s getting some work done” and then I thought it seems to be right next door, which is weird cos they’re having their first baby any day now and nobody would begin a major remodeling project with a newborn to care for.”

As I got a bit closer, I said to myself, “HOLY SHIT, THAT”S MY HOUSE.”

The driver began to unload the massive dumpster as I drove up and from my car I frantically (as you can imagine) told him to STOPSTOPSTOP!

I jumped out (after snapping a photo) and asked him what the heck did he think he doing and he needed to take it away IMMEDIATELY.

He showed me the work order which definitely had MY address, but the account name was my neighbor who lived three doors up the street. I guess it was a typo or a careless, not-very-thorough employee who didn’t do his/her due diligence.

We both walked down the street to double-check with said neighbor who confirmed that they ordered it and with a bunch of apologies to me, the driver successfully deposited the dumpster where it was supposed to go.

If I had been just one minute later than I was, I would have come home to an absolute disaster, a true dumpster diving nightmare! Timing is everything.

As it was, I’ll never get back the twenty minutes of my life I spent on the phone with the company to make sure that I wasn’t charged for a dumpster I didn’t request.

After that, I needed to take a few deep breaths, calm down, and lower my blood pressure…disaster BARELY averted, thank goodness.

Unearthed Primitive Artifact Or…

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Before I even begin my strange tale, I want to be sensitive to negative colloquialisms such as “‘Burying the hatchet’.

The use of this term trivializes the ancient peace-making ceremony in which two fighting nations symbolically buried or cached their weapons of war.

Offensive language like this is a result of centuries of violence and continues to perpetuate stereotypes that have real-life impacts on Native communities.

Indigenous Peoples and their cultural traditions are real and deserve respect. They are not historical artifacts, caricatures, or mascots. (radicalcopyeditor.com)

But I don’t know how else to describe what I just found in my garden…an actual buried hatchet.

Look at it!

It’s a joke from the Universe, right?

I have no idea how long it’s been there or how it became buried near a path that leads to some steps to the second level.

I can’t even figure out how, after all this time, it became UNburied enough for me to notice that bright blue handle.

So with deepest respect, I brushed away the dirt around the buried hatchet.

I’m not sure what to do next. Dig it up? Leave it there? Anyone care to hazard a guess about what it means?

Twinning Toilets

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One more story to share…

When I was little and I’m sure it’s because my mom was a nurse, but I experienced a significantly higher level of attention to hygiene in our day to day life than some. Our joke was that I had as much Lysol in my veins as red blood cells.

For example, WAY before there were seat covers, whenever we happened to visit a public restroom, my mom taught me how to place three long pieces of toilet paper to cover the seat before I sat down.

She said it was a sanitary barrier against germs. Germs were our nemesis–we must protect ourselves!

Even today, when I’m in a public restroom, whether there are no seat covers or the container is empty, I’ll still channel my mom and use her method to save myself from touching a seat countless others have used. #EWWWW

A while back, Angel Girl and I were at my local park and she needed to use the restroom. There was an empty container where the seat covers should have been, so it was the perfect opportunity to pass on the knowledge from her namesake, exactly the way I was taught,

Later that day while I was making dinner, Angel Girl was in the bathroom and she pulled three long strips of toilet paper and covered the toilet seat before using.

When mom asked her what she was doing, she said “That’s what Grandma does.”

Like a duckling, that angel imprints on all my behaviors, haha.

I heard the chat and rushed in to explain to this brilliant brilliant little human that this method was something we only needed to do for public toilets, the ones that are used by lots of other people, and we didn’t need to do that when we were here at home or at their house.

I’m absolutely sure that the toilet seats in MY home are pristine and reasonably sure that the toilet seats in THEIR home were clean (fingers crossed.)

A little research blew my mind. There seems to be no real scientific or medical reason for covering toilet seats. It was once believed that you could catch a gastrointestinal bug or sexually transmitted disease from a public toilet, but research has proved otherwise; that it’s a practically pointless exercise in sanitation.

Another alternative would be to use an alcohol or bleach wipe, but I don’t always have them with me.

Does anyone else but me (and Angel Girl) still do this? Do you hover or cover?

‘Cos I don’t really care, I still think it’s gross to have any direct contact on a toilet seat where a thousand strangers have been, so I’ll continue to cover.