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"Like myths, symbols are thus ambiguous; they resist certainty."

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Life is one crazy cake! Confined in our tiny home space the shuffle of cards (tiny) blends with what is around me and in me. The cut grass outside is discomforting to me. I have allergies. For a while the windows and doors are sealed shut. A big riding lawn mower cut the campground lawn on an otherwise quiet Sunday stirred up my aura, and Pete's. Stirred to craziness by noise and the conflict of differences in priorities sleep and calm were difficult to access. It's not the first time a big riding lawn mower has stirred me to craziness. It's not the first time for turning the fuzzy edges into cake. My mojo. My magic was tampered with. To reconnect I went to the metaphor of cooking, and cooked up flan. I was supposed to be taking a break from blogging ... and I did. And then, I felt the edges of my subtle body touched by the finger tip of aloha; someone had left her calling card and I could make space for change.  The card spoke in myth, woven with my Mother's ton
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The long journey of revolution

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The morning temperature was moderate, warm in comparison to last week's snow. I am living with a virus that changes as it tenders its way through me first with a cough that starts only after I lay me down to sleep; and then this morning, I was better because I slept through the night. Pete slept as I took inventory in our kitchen: dishes were washed -- I could fill the old turquoise fry pan; parsnips, and a purple potato from the food bank, half a red onion, cloves of garlic, a bag of frozen yellow corn, olive oil and a packet of ground turkey. Something good could come of all of these ingredients. In our world, one of my jobs is cooking, a job I love and am happy to do. When I am sick from a bug like this one or down with the effects of environmental illness, feeding us falls to Pete; one more thing adds to my partner's load.Living close to town where all the services we need and use are within walking distance or a very short drive, shopping for a meal is easier. Ease is no
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Acts of Connection

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“It was through her actions of reciprocity, the give and take with the land, that the original immigrant became indigenous. For all of us, becoming indigenous to a place means living as if your children’s future mattered, to take care of the land as if our lives, both material and spiritual, depended on it.”- Robin Wall Kimmerer Summer is moving to fall. The deep dry of grasses are showing signs of greening; the infrequent rains and the moisture of Salish Sea air contribute. The Bunnies continue to mate, multiply and survive on the handouts from us campers and their search for grass roots. This clan hollows out any rise in the sandy ground to get at the barely succulent roots to keep them alive. Watchfulness is another of their stay alive predispositions. One resident feline hunter prowls the campground. We call her Devil Cat. I sit at the large wagon window to observe the morning’s regularities and see the Bunnies on their hunches as D.C. makes her rounds along the g
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