December 9th, 2006

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Good Morning!

I am well, though it may appear I disappeared for a bit.  For some reason, I have been hit this week with extreme fatigue, but I am feeling back this morning, and have been working away.   I think I needed to go through a molt and re-forming and this weather is conducive to that.    The grays of the sky yesterday were amazing, and I love the rain.  Bella and Tiger continue cute as can be, and need extra cuddling with the rain and the cold.   We are hoping to see Jeff and Jan today, and it appears their new home is on the way to closing.  The walk-through is tomorrow and that is exciting also.  I want to get down there for it and see ever more clearly all there is to see.

Chris has come up with a great idea for their Christmas present and we are excited about that. 

A joyful day to All!   May your holiday preparations be easy and fun!!
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checking in -

Yesterday, I went to Crissy Field to meet Theresa.  I was early and walked for ten minutes with a woman I met, and her dog.  In that time, she told me that her brother was being taken off life support that day.  Prayers for this man as he sails along his way.

Theresa and I saw an Great Blue Heron lift up from one of the trees.  The sky was amazing shades of gray.

Today, I look out on grays and greens and feel increasingly grateful for this chain called life.

Here is my poem for today.



     Spread parmesan cheese, grated,

     under a broiler and melt.

     Let cool and harden, then, dip

     into pesto and tomato spread.


            Journey, and not.


            Tibet and Lhasa,

        once reached by pilgrimage,

                now accessed by high-speed train.


            Must we walk one step at a time,

                                or fly?


            The Dalai Lama flies on planes.


                War spread his face,

                        into our hearts.


            For him, this moment, now,

                            the happiest.


                        For me, too -

            this moment, my fingerprint, yours.

                Rest under a broiler, and meld.   


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Barnes & Noble -

The new Barnes & Noble bookstore has opened at Corte Madera shopping center.  Yesterday, I entered it's hallowed air.  I must say that though I wrote letters against it, because of its proximity to Book Passage, there is nothing like a book store.  My breath changes there.  I hope we can have both stores.  They are very different from each other, and it is impossible to have anything to say against books.   They are a joy for me!!
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A lovely little book -

It is raining, and the sound is so strong, it feels very close, as though it is inside.  I got out Christmas wrapping paper and ribbons, and spread them all over the floor.  The kittens are gently exploring. 

I just read Pema Chodron's book, Practicing Peace in Times of War.   I highly recommend it.  It is a teeny-tiny thing and a wonderful gift.  It would fit inside most Christmas stockings, except for Tiger's and Bella's.   Here is a good definition of peace.   "Softening what is rigid in our hearts."    That means softening toward everyone and everything.  There is no divisiveness here, no choosing "good" or "bad," and that is a peaceful place.

Add it to your Christmas list.  Let's plant seeds of peace and ease.

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as the rain comes down -

Here is a poem by Sylvia Plath on mushrooms that are rising in the rain in  forests and fields.


Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding.

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot’s in the door.

Sylvia Plath