Tag Archives: Writer’s Life

Being Nonconformist

01 Monday Feb 2021

Posted by in Personal Essays, Writing

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My Mom and I were talking about bargains.  I love a bargain. In fact, I rarely make a purchase unless it is a bargain. I was re-thinking a purchase I didn’t make because it was an excellent deal but it was something I did not need. Just because something is a bargain doesn’t mean the money needs to be spent. 

My Mom agreed and told a story about her father receiving several pairs of silk socks one Christmas: a bargain his mother could not pass up.  My grandfather hated these socks.  Mom said he thought they were uncomfortable and his feet sweat in them something terrible.  Whatever his mother paid for them was too much.  Which got me thinking…

Does anyone remember the silk shirt fashion trend?  This had to be late 80s early 90s.  Everyone was wearing them and I wanted one so badly.  I don’t remember if I saved my allowance or talked my mother into purchasing one for me but there came the day I found myself the possessor of a dark teal silk shirt.  How proud I was of it!  What a beautiful color!  How wonderful I would now fit in with all the IT people who had their own silk shirts!  How I hated this shirt every time I wore it! 

There was not enough antiperspirant in the world to keep my armpits from sweating in this shirt.  I was anxious every time I wore my coveted silk shirt, certain that I was going to end up with large wet spots under my arms.  I don’t remember if I ever did raise my arms in that shirt.  I do know I didn’t wear it more than a handful of times.

What a waste of money that was.  What an awful fashion trend.  Remembering got me wondering…was everyone else having the same experience?  Did silk shirts become a fashion trend because everyone was looking at everyone else wearing them and, too embarrassed to admit to excessive sweating, endured?  Perhaps everyone else loved their shirts and it was only me who experienced the sweating.  If so, it begs the question: why did I ever wear that shirt more than once?  Was my desire to fit in so overwhelming I was willing to endure discomfort?  The sad truth is yes, it was. 

The way of fitting in has always escaped me.  I tried fixing my hair like the popular girls, wearing the same clothes, trying to understand what they liked and talked about and it never worked.  I think I’ve managed to misplace most of the photos from that era!  I still can’t think of the words “spiral perm” without wincing.  I never got the fashions quite right.  It is a truth I must still acknowledge that what looks adorable on another woman will not look the same on me.  I am always ever too something and it doesn’t fit right.  I also acknowledge my personal taste never quite conforms.  I can’t count how many times I left my house thinking I’d finally nailed it only to arrive at school and learn no, I had not.  

I am now a mature woman who has found my identity in Christ.  I am comfortable in my skin and my clothes and I thank Jesus for that.  I also thank Him that I can look back on what were painful experiences at the time and see that there is a lesson to be learned from them. 

Romans 12:2 says, “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”  It might surprise you to know that the Greek word translated “world” here is not kosmos (Strong’s G2889) which means “orderly arrangement or decoration” and is the word translated “world” most often in the New Testament.  Nor is it oikoumene (Strong’s G3625) which means “land, the terrene part of the globe, earth”.  No, the word translated “world” in this passage is aion (Strong’s G165) and means “an age”.  What’s the difference?

Vine’s Expository Dictionary says kosmos is “primarily order, arrangement, ornament, adornment and is used to denote the earth…the universe owing to the order observable in it…the human race…the sum of temporal possessions.”  Oikomene “is used of the whole inhabited world” and aion is “an age, a period of time, marked in the N.T. usage by spiritual or moral characteristics…details concerning the world in this respect; its cares…its sons…its rulers…its wisdom…its fashion…its character”1  The entry also states “Aion is always to be distinguished from kosmos, even where the two seem to the express the same idea” and gives the example of Ephesians 2:2: …where you once walked after the course (aion) of this world (kosmos).2

What defines the age Paul admonishes me not to be conformed to in his letter to the Romans?  I do not think I am mistaken to say it is a way of thought because after telling me to “be not conformed” Paul says “be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind.”  In other letters, Paul tells us to “let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus (Philippians 2:5) and to “be renewed in the spirit of your mind (Ephesians 4:23)”. 

I have found that the rules of school followed me into adult hood.  Not that the clothes I wear are of utmost importance-though that is still a thing-but; if I want to fit in, if I want to belong, I must conform to an acceptable way of thought.  Perhaps I’m straining a metaphor but the thoughts of this age fit me like that silk shirt.  Maybe everyone else is comfortable in it but I am not and I am not the same person willing to suffer anxiety and endure discomfort so that I can fit in with everyone else.  My desire is no longer focused on fitting in.  I want to know Jesus.  I want to explore the vastness of my inheritance in Him, I want to live His life, and I want to think His thoughts.  All of this is possible for me because He has placed His Spirit within me.

The renewing of my mind In Christ is not always comfortable but He is always safe.  I imagine the word-picture painted in the story of the Husbandman in the 15th chapter of John.  There are necessary prunings and they can be painful but He does not seek to destroy me because I don’t conform to His way of thinking.  Rather, every work in my life makes me more the Me I was always intended to be and thus I am transformed into his way of thinking.  So, I live.  Yet, not I.  It is Christ who lives in me.  It’s a wondrous, glorious, awesome mystery.

And, if Isaiah 61:10 and Colossians 3:12 are any indication, I’ll be wearing some pretty cool garments.

  1. Vine, W.E., Vine’s Expository Dictionary of Old & New Testament Words, 1997, Nashville, Tennessee, Thomas Nelson Publishers, World, Pages 1245-1246
  2. Vine, W.E., Vine’s Expository Dictionary of Old & New Testament Words, 1997, Nashville, Tennessee, Thomas Nelson Publishers, World, Page 1246

Icons and Idols

17 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by in Walking in the Way

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Madeleine L’Engle is one of my favorite authors.  I was 9 or 10 when I first read “A Wrinkle in Time” and was thus and forevermore hooked on her writing.  Through the years, I’ve moved from her-would they be considered Young Adult books?-to her adult fiction, to her journals, to her essays.  A short time ago, I found “Penguins & Golden Calves: Icons and Idols in Antarctica and Other Unexpected Places” and, I must admit, had a knee-jerk reaction to the words “Icons and Idols”.  I believe I’ve mentioned before I don’t have an extensive religious background but that doesn’t mean those beliefs haven’t made their way into my mental processes.  Aren’t icons wrong?  Aren’t icons and idols synonymous?  Do I have to stop reading one of my favorite authors?

 I had already read the The Genesis Trilogy by Ms. L’Engle and had found them beautiful.  My faith had grown reading these books and so, trusting Ms. L’Engle wasn’t about to let me down now, bought this book.  I have never been sorry that I did so and, like every other book written by Madeleine L’Engle I have read, this one made me sit down and peruse my own life.  Did I have icons in my life?  If I did, was that wrong? Did I (gasp) have idols?  How could I know?  What was the difference?

In my attempts to answer these questions, I first, I looked to the dictionary definitions of icon.  My Second College Edition New World Dictionary of the American Language give me: “an image, figure, representation.”  The Webster’s New Reference Library: An Encyclopedia of Dictionaries stated “a religious image painted on a panel.”  I have seen icons fitting these definitions and appreciated them as art but they’ve never inspired me to pray or worship.  There is nothing in those painted images that remind me of the vibrant apostles who were flogged, jailed, stoned, driven from cities and towns, and, in some cases; killed.  Neither have I been transfixed by any image of Jesus.  How could I possibly be so?  What image could ever compare with He who is utter livingness as revealed in Revelation 1: 10-18?  The answer then is no: by these definitions, I have no icons.

Madeleine L’Engle has a personal, more extensive definition of Icon.  She writes; “What do I mean by icon?…I am not thinking of the classic definition of icons so familiar in the orthodox church, icons of Christ, the Theotokos, saints, painted on wood and often partially covered with silver.  My personal definition is much wider, and the simplest way I can put it into words is to affirm that an icon, for me is an open window to God.  An icon is something I can look through and get a wider glimpse of God and God’s demands on us, el’s mortal children, than I would otherwise.” (Page 8)  And then: “If something does not lead us to God it is not and cannot be an icon.” (Page 10)

By this definition, there are many things I would consider icons.  Waterfalls, rivers, oceans, mountains, ravines, the sky overhead…all at one time have revealed some aspect of God to me that sent my heart soaring in worship and praise at the greatness of His love. On a smaller scale, I suppose I would say turtles are an icon.  From their shells to their slowness to their determination, I see in turtles something that reveals who God is to me on this spiritual journey.  So then yes: considering an icon as an open window to God, I have many such icons in my life.

If I say I have icons, do I then have idols? Just what is an idol?  Can an icon become an idol?  It seems that yes they can because Madeleine L’Engle also writes, “You may not turn an image into God, because that is to turn an icon into an idol.”  (Page 14).  Before I can worry about whether or not I’ve been turning my icons into idols, I must understand what an idol is.

Returning to my dictionary, I find the following definitions for Idol: “an image of a god, used as an object or instrument of worship.”  It seems to me that, to turn an icon into an idol, the heart of the matter (literally and figuratively) is worship.  The Second Commandment says “You shall not make for yourself a carved image-any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall now bow down to them or serve them.” (Exodus 20: 4-5a)

I suppose the fact that I have a turtle pendant would mean I possess a graven image but it was not given to me as such nor do I worship it.  I see aspects of God revealed in nature but that doesn’t mean I become an Animist.  Do I then believe that, as long as they do not become idols, icons are acceptable?  I live in a world I perceive with my senses.  How else is an invisible God going to reveal Himself to me except through the works of His hands?  Romans 1:20 says “For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world.”  It is not idolatry to find God in His Creation as long as, I think, I do not stop with the creation but continue to look through that window to Him.

Madeleine L’Engle writes “Jesus should be for us the icon of icons.  God sending heaven to earth, ‘Lord of lords in human vesture.’”(Page 93). 

Jesus as The Icon.  I admit to a bit of knee jerk reaction at that thought as well.  And yet, Colossions 1:15 does state, “Christ is the visible image of the invisible God” so perhaps the thought isn’t sacrilegious after all.  While it doesn’t hurt to give my life a thorough examining, perhaps I will merely thank Him for revealing Himself to me no matter how He chooses to do so.  And, I can thank Him that I don’t have to stop reading one of my favorite authors.

The quotes were taken from “Penguins and Golden Calves: Icons and Idols in Antarctica and Other Unexpected Places” by Madeleine L’Engle published by Shaw Books in 2003.

           

Gaining Strength As I Go

01 Friday May 2020

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After a two year hiatus, I am back to blogging!  Before I made Renaissance Woman public again I went through all of my old posts updating, checking links, deleting (a lot of deleting) and I found it apropos that my final blog post in April of 2018 was about making forward progress even if it’s at a turtle’s pace.  Two years later and the theme of that post is still valid.

The last two years have been fraught with difficulty.  My biggest obstacle occurred at the end of 2018: a major surgery I spent what felt like all of 2019 recovering from.  My neighbor described his wife’s last surgery to me and said it is a fight to come back from such a thing.  I agree: it felt like a battle and it became obvious early on it wasn’t one I was going to win in a day.  My first post-surgery walk went no further than the mailbox on the corner of my block which is an embarrassingly short distance.  I’d love to say I made more progress the next day but I didn’t.  My recovery was one of two steps forward, three steps back, and then at last four steps forward.

It took months but I finally walked a full mile.  I even took a trip to the mountains with a friend in July of 2019.  I admit I was grateful for late snow storms that kept hiking to a minimum as I had overestimated my ability.  Still, I’m never one to turn down a chance to be in God’s Creation and I didn’t collapse during our hike at Fish Creek Falls. I call that victory!

Falls Two

I had to learn to be gentle with myself.  I am still learning to be gentle with myself because I have found that six weeks might be enough for incisions to heal but the rest of me is on my own clock.  I can do nothing to alter the speed of this passage of time.  All I can do is surrender and take one day at a time one step at a time.  I still wear the turtle pendant I mentioned in the last post and it has been a tangible reminder to me that any forward movement, even if it is just one step, is better than stagnation.

Stagnation is a terrible thing.  When I think of stagnation in a physical sense, I think of my lymphatic system.  This amazing system running through my body is so important for my health and yet it has no ability to move itself.  What do I mean?  The lymph has no heart to aid it as it moves upward through my body to my subclavian veins and thus relies on the motions of the muscles and joint pumps.  I must move or my lymphatic system is unable to do its job and my immune system suffers.  This pumping of my lymphatic system doesn’t require insanely difficult exercises. (I always think of Tae Bo.  Is that still something exercise lovers do?)  All I have to do is move a little bit throughout my day.

I found this quote:

“Life is never stagnation. It is constant movement, un-rhythmic movement, as we as constant change. Things live by moving and gain strength as they go.” ~ Bruce Lee

I think that’s beautiful.  “Things live by moving and gain strength as they go”.  There isn’t an aspect of my life I can’t apply that to: especially writing.  Writer’s speak of the flow of words and so I write to keep that flow constant.  I will write here on this blog, in my journal, in my notebooks, in my manuscript (manuscripts now-I had to put my series aside to conduct research on a few things and I’ve been working on a stand alone book since April of last year).  I write, I walk, I move to keep stagnation at bay.  I seek merely to gain strength as I go.

River

 

 

 

 

 

 

Celebrating National Poetry Month

30 Thursday Apr 2020

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The poem below is one of mine I’m posting for National Poetry Month.

It will tie into tomorrow’s blog post.

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Epiphany

Three miles-less will mean defeat

The gravel’s crunch beneath my feet

Each step propels me down the track

Yet I’m aware of all I lack

My body falters-lungs constrict

It fights against all I inflict

I answer all my pain with rage

My heart thuds-panicked-in its cage

I will not fail. I won’t give in.

I won’t be beaten. I will win.

I stop.  I breathe.  Confront the myth-

Of Who am I competing with?

Begin Again.  Take it slow

Let lungs expand inside my chest

It matters not how fast I go

My racing heart returns to rest

My muscles slide beneath my skin

Feel sun and breeze upon my face

There is no race that I must win

I do not fight to keep this pace

A bird takes wing, soars overhead

So much is waiting to be seen

To my right, a flash of red

A single apple midst leaves of green

Now that I do not resist

I see all I would have missed.

 

 

 

Be A Turtle

17 Tuesday Apr 2018

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I recently had one of those experiences where someone says something, a simple statement, yet it takes hold in my mind and that simple statement blossoms into deep meaning.  I was perusing an exercise forum on Facebook and a woman talked about her experience with a particular form of exercise, stating she wasn’t well enough to practice every day but was “turtleing her way through”.  I saw what she was saying, acknowledged the truth of the statement, and forgot about it.

Well, not really.  I began to see memes pop up on my Facebook page: pictures of turtles, tracks in sand, and messages like “any progress is forward progress” and I would think “turtling my way”.  During this time, I was finishing a book on the culture of the non-elite in Ancient Rome and Aesop was mentioned several times.  I already had Aesop on the brain when these memes popped up in my feed, not surprisingly, I began to think about the Tortoise and the Hare fable.

Do you remember this tale?  If not, briefly: The hare was laughing at the tortoise for being slow and awkward.  The tortoise challenges the hare to a race and the hare, thinking it’s a good joke, accepts.  The hare takes off, leaving the tortoise far behind, but stops halfway to the goal to play, snack, and take a nap.  The hare sleeps longer than intended and, upon waking, finds the tortoise no where in sight.  The hare races towards the finish line and finds the tortoise already there, waiting.

I’ve always read this with my focus on the hare, thinking it was a lesson on the dangers of being a bully and being arrogant.  I re-read it with my focus on the tortoise and two things caught my attention.  One, the tortoise good-naturedly, issues the challenge.  To do so the tortoise had to be aware of the hare’s character but, more importantly, self-confident.  The hare making her the butt of jokes did nothing to shake her assurance.  Two, the translation of the fable I have says the tortoise “plodded on, unwavering and unresting, straight towards the goal”.

That struck me.

I have such expectations of myself.  I think that can be a good thing-drive is important-but it ceases to be good when my expectations are unreasonable.  I’ve pushed myself in every aspect of my life, unwilling to admit I am subject to the physical and mental limitations I have.  I should write more words per day.  I should be further along in my spiritual walk.  I should be in better shape.  While all of these are worthwhile goals, I tend not to take into account my car accident.  I hate thinking of myself as a disabled person and, while I think it’s a good thing I don’t want the accident to define me, I must acknowledge my injuries left me limited.  Accepting those limitations aren’t always easy but it helps to have a mantra.  Over the last few weeks, mine has become “be a turtle”.  I tell myself that on a daily basis.

Any progress is forward progress.  Even if it’s one word written, one step taken, one prayer, it’s one more than I had yesterday.  Like the tortoise in the fable, I move unwavering toward my goal, though I admit I do rest 🙂

I was given a gift for my 17th birthday; a turtle pendant.  I haven’t worn it a great deal but I’ve kept it in my jewelry box.  I’ve begun to wear it as a reminder to be a turtle but also as a reminder of the fullness of time.  It’s been one or two years since I turned 17 and, at that time, the pendant was just a gift from a friend.  Gratefully received and appreciated but just a gift.  Neither she nor I knew it would take on such meaning for me at this point in my life.  A simple gift.  A simple statement.  Perhaps not so simple after all.

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My birthday gift.

 

 

A Resolution I Can Keep

07 Sunday Jan 2018

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The first week of 2018 is coming to a close.  How are everyone’s resolutions going?

I don’t usually make resolutions but, moving forward, I am resolved to be kinder to myself.  I tend to be hard on myself, demand a great deal of myself, and then fall into negative self-talk when I can’t meet my own expectations.  In 2018, I resolve to say positive things about myself and focus on what I believe is my calling.  Writing.

I didn’t always think writing was my calling and, by ‘calling’ I mean the one thing I loved to do above all other things.  Writing was a hobby, nothing more.  After all, there were many other worthwhile things I could be doing.  I liked reading, enjoyed words, and always wrote even if it was just in a journal but it was always the thing I did to keep myself sane while I pursued that worthwhile (i.e. more important) thing.  And yet, there was always an image in my head: an example a friend set for me that always had me asking myself, is this worthwhile thing something I love doing?

That friend is Tara Novak and the example she set for me occurred on a New York trip we had opportunity to take with our High School drama group.  Tara is an immensely talented violinist and she brought her violin on that trip.  In the early morning, Tara was practicing her violin in the stairwell of the hotel our group was staying in.  That has always stayed with me.  With her talent, no doubt Tara could have taken a few days off practice and no one would have ever noticed.  She didn’t.  No matter what others might think or say, Tara was running scales before breakfast, honing her craft.  I never asked her if she did so because she loved violin too much not to play: whatever her reasons, her example is the standard I have measured my choices against.

I have taken enjoyment in many things and, perhaps they were worthwhile, but none of them was the thing I’d do in a hotel stairwell.  The only thing I’ve never wanted to take a day off from and, yes, would do in a hotel stairwell, is writing.  I love words.  Reading them, writing them, finding that one word that perfectly expresses what I want to say.  Words are my passion.

Pursuing that passion isn’t always easy.  I have some physical limitations from the car accident that can make writing difficult and I am not always nice to myself when I come up against those limitations.  I tell myself if I was a better writer, more talented, I would be able to write less drafts and my book would not be taking so long to complete.  I find Tara’s example a comfort in these times.  She wasn’t in that stairwell playing Bach’s Chaconne from Partita in D Minor (though she could have done if  she wanted!): she was playing scales.  I like to think of my writing that way.  I have thousands of words and, even though they aren’t yet honed into the manuscript I can look at and say “it is finished”, each word is like a note in a musical scale: the necessary practice for the manuscript that will come.  I remember Tara in a hotel stairwell on those days writing doesn’t go well or I’m especially tired.  She reminds me to never give up and I am able to show myself kindness.  I will always be grateful.

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Not a stairwell but I did recently get some work done in a hotel room. It came equipped with a lounge chair.

If you’re interested in how practice truly does make perfect, you can find Tara Novak on Facebook    as well as her website.

Developing My Writing Brain

21 Sunday May 2017

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Writing Shelf

I would love to be a word genius: stories spilling out of my brain with no need for editing or grammar checks.  That’s not how my writing process goes, unfortunately, so I do a great deal of reading.  Reading is my favorite thing and, among the amazing fiction I read for fun and the history I read for research (and fun), I also read about writing.  Some of the books I read are craft and others are writers writing about writing.  Most I read and put back on my shelf but I just finished a book I thought worthy of mention: Fire Up Your Writing Brain by Susan Reynolds.

This book doesn’t cover craft-not really.  Rather, the book contains tips and tricks derived from neuroscience to take what I already know as a writer and make it work more efficiently.  This is a book I’ll have to study and my favorite part were the quotes included from different writers.

There were three things I read on my first pass through this book that stayed with me:

First, a little blurb about Mark Zuckerberg was included stating he buys multiples of the same shirt in order to minimize how many decisions he makes in a day.  He’s quoted as saying; “There’s a bunch of psychological theory that even making small decisions about what you wear, what you eat for breakfast, etc., can make you tired.” (Fire Up Your Writing Brain, page 162).  The TBI I sustained in my car accident years ago means it’s easy for my brain to get overwhelmed.  Planning my meals, multi-tasking at my job, researching, writing my manuscript, posting to my blogs…it can get difficult for me to keep it all straight.  This quote struck me.  I’ve already been looking for ways to simplify my life and reading this has caused me to make doing so a priority.

Two, no one is perfect and yet I keep expecting my writing to be so.  The section entitled “Your Expectations Are Too High” on page 194 spoke to me.  In it, Ms. Reynolds states “The best advice anyone can give inexperienced writers is to write a first draft as quickly as possible, as good books are not written, but rewritten and rewritten and rewritten.”  This is something I’ve heard many times from many sources but perhaps, this time, I was ready not just to hear it but take it to heart.  I finished a first draft years ago: all 612 pages of it.  It’s been whittling and paring and cutting that mass of research and character background into something more readable that’s been a problem.  I have difficulty not tweaking this, re-writing that, what if this, and would it be better if… What Ms. Reynolds’ book is helped me realize is it’s still too early in my process to expect perfection.  I need to turn off my editing brain for a while. Easier said than done but I’m pushing through.

Three, it’s important to have a writing space.  I’m fortunate to have an office downstairs where all my books are neatly on their shelves, I have a desk, a comfy chair, and a place to put my feet.  While simplifying my life, parts of my office have become a dump site for papers I have to scan before I can shred, blank cards I have yet to fill out and send to friends and family, and other detritus I’m can’t throw away before I look at it.  Writing in this room feels different than writing anywhere else in the house.  Because of my books?  I can’t really say.  However, I need to get the room organized so I can work there without feeling anxious about mess.  This too is now a priority.

I gave this book 5 stars on Goodreads.  The information in it is bound to be more useful than I yet realize.  This is one that definitely goes on my bookshelf; just as soon as I get the shelf dusted and sorted.

Connect with me on Goodreads!

The Good Old Wintertime

11 Saturday Mar 2017

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Snow

It’s still winter according to the calendar but snowy days have been few and far between here in Colorado.  I need some cold days because my cookie recipes are stacking up but I can’t complain too much: cold weather makes me feel old and creaky.  On really cold days I entertain myself by thinking of seeking warmer climes, however; I’d miss winter.

I like snowy days.  Every sound is muffled and the world is quieter, stiller, than usual.  At least, I like them when I’m inside and warm.  I remember one time when I wasn’t much of a fan of cold and winter.

My dad had taken a job as foreman on a ranch and moved us north.  My brother and I were excited to be living on a ranch and were sure we’d each be able to have a horse.  It was the dead of winter and, practically the moment we arrived, the pipes in the house froze.  I don’t remember much of that time other than the bitter cold.  I do remember being put to bed with so many blankets and coats I could barely move.  I woke up on the third morning after our arrival to the sound of my mother packing our boxes and we were gone.  That was the coldest I ever remember being and the shortest I ever lived in one place.

Usually though, I like snow.  I like watching the flakes fall, I like the feeling of isolation.  I used to like hiking in the snow, though I don’t do much of that now.  All other sounds are muffled and the crunch of snow under my boots, the creaking of branches, and the occasional drop of snow to the ground all are inordinately loud.  Even when with other people, hiking in the snow made me feel alone.  I always felt more in touch with my own breath outdoors in the snow-perhaps the act of drawing the cold into my lungs-and even my thoughts seem to move more slowly.

I once tried to capture this feeling in poetry.  I wrote the included poem for my English class while at University and it’s one of my earliest attempts at word painting.  It’s been years but I remember my classmates liked it.  I hope you’ll feel the same.

One With Winter

It was a moment I will always remember

I stepped out of the trees

And a magnificent sight lay before me

A fresh snowfall covered the meadow

Beautiful, unmarred, soft, covered in a thin shell

The light from the moon sparkled like diamonds

All around me was silence-no movement for miles

There was only the fog I created as I breathed.

The coldness of Winter was in the air

It caressed my face, my lips

Winter found a kindred spirit in me

It entered my skin, my blood, my bones

And we were one.

As Winter I felt such peace-such nothingness

I was the ice in the air and the snow expansive before me

Beautiful, still, cold

I let myself sink into the heart of Winter

Until I was becoming lost in the cold

And had to fight my way back to myself

I took care as I walked around the meadow

Reluctant to mar the beauty I had enjoyed.

I returned the next day

To see my snow covered meadow but the snow was no longer there

It had melted-submitted-to the loving warmth of the sun.

 

 

A Walk in the Park

26 Wednesday Oct 2016

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A friend came out for a visit a few weeks ago and we celebrated beautiful weather in Colorado by spending the day in Rocky Mountain National Park.  This day, we turned left rather than heading straight into the park and visited Bear Lake.

My friend is a low lander and made some comments about my state not having enough air.  My family and I plied her with water and warnings not to ignore any feelings of dizziness then, as my friend was game for hiking, headed to the lake.

Bear Lake was well worth the stop.  It’s a beautiful place.  When my friend and I visited, the sun sparkled on the water, the sky was clear overhead, and a pair of ducks sought sustenance.  My friend asked if Bear Lake was called “Bear Lake” because it was shaped like a bear’s paw and I had to tell her I didn’t know.  A bit of research on Google led me to this blog post where I learned that the grandfather of a woman named Sally Ferguson shot at and missed a bear while hunting in the area in 1912 and that’s how the lake earned it’s name.  Now I know.  There’s a great deal of information on the History of Bear Lake in the post: I encourage you to check it out.

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Bear Lake

Bear Lake isn’t far from the parking lot so my friend felt up for a hike.  I’ll hike whenever I get the chance so I was chomping at the proverbial bit to get onto a trail.  There’s a lovely walk around the lake but we weren’t far from the trail to Alberta Falls.  My friend said she’d never seen a waterfall before and thought she was up for the hike.  My family was content to entertain themselves and the two of us started off.

Hiking with my friend was an experience I’ll ever forget and probably the most fun hiking I’ve ever had.  The two of us giggled over the fact she was hiking in designer jeans, Pumas and carrying a Coach bag slung over her shoulder.  I looked like I’d crawled out of the bushes by comparison.  We laughed, snapped photos, and took breathing breaks all the way to Alberta Falls.

I resorted to Google again to satisfy  my own curiosity about the naming of Alberta Falls and found I liked this website best.  The hike isn’t difficult.  There is an increase in elevation once Bear Lake is left but the incline isn’t ever too intense and the trail is well maintained.  There are bridges that add some fun to a basic trail and stones to prevent tumbling head long into a ravine.  (I had to be kept from falling to my death in search of a photo; my friend is much more level-headed)  The hike up to the falls took about an hour and, when we finally reached them, my friend said the hike was well worth it.  She rested for a bit while I had a grand time crawling around on rocks in search of the best waterfall picture.

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Alberta Falls

It was a glorious day.  Not only did we see two beautiful spots but my friend got a stamp in her National Parks book and I purchased a book of my own: a history of women settlers in the area now in my stack to read.  I’ll be hard pressed to top it when next my friend visits.

It isn’t possible to find a bad view in Rocky Mountain National Park but, if you get a chance to visit, check out Bear Lake and take the time to hike to the Falls.  Both places are beautiful and not difficult to reach.  I found them both to be accessible by all fitness levels.  Come to Colorado and decide for yourself!

Lions and Tigers and Bears…

03 Saturday Sep 2016

Posted by in RW Out and About

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…and wolves, too!

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Last weekend, a friend came down from Wyoming for a day visit.  My family and I had ordered Palisade Peaches through the Wild Animal Sanctuary’s program and it just so happened the pick-up weekend and my friend’s visit coincided.  My friend was agreeable so we decided to tour the sanctuary before picking up the peaches.

The Sanctuary is a place I’ve followed and supported for a while now but I’ve never had the chance/made the time to do the tour.  The Sanctuary is toured from the “Mile into the Wild Walkway”, a raised walkway that offers an opportunity to safely view the rescued animals.

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All the animals are rescued.  They come from defunct circuses, roadside attractions, and drug dealers to list a few.  Some of the stories are heart wrenching: animals that have lived their lives confined to cages and cement and never see grass or unrestricted sunlight until they come to the Sanctuary.

There are still cages but the animals remain so only until they are acclimated to each other and their surroundings and then they are released into a habitat where the animals are made as comfortable as they can be.

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One of the Tigers getting used to the place.

The Sanctuary is not a zoo so the animals can roam quite a distance from the walkway and can be difficult to see without a telephoto lens.  I didn’t want to carry it so the animals are a bit difficult to see in some of the photos I took, but that’s what I like about the Sanctuary: it offers the chance to see amazing carnivores in rural Colorado but it’s all about the animals.  The Sanctuary exists to give them a comfortable home, not to put them on display.  Visiting the animals is a privilege and the Sanctuary’s goal is education.

My friend and I spent two hours in the Sanctuary and it was well worth it.  Check out the Wild Animal Sanctuary; it’s a great place to spend a day.  Also, check out the peach program.  It’s a tasty way to support an organization seeking to do good.

Check out more photos here.

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