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HAPPY HOLIDAYS 1998
to you and yours!
Dear Friends Far and Wide,
Here's the news!
Every time I'm grossed out stumbling unawares onto an animal haunch in the dumpster, I know I'm still in Idaho—more alarming, it's my 3rd year! Lately it's just game birds--beats elk parts.
This year began accepting I may even be supposed to be here with the born again-nazis and blond supremacists—after all, where else do free spirits who resist authority as I do sift out? The best part about Idaho is: hot springs. The more I partake, the more I like it here. A cat who likes long hot baths and won't do what she's told could do worse…
1998 began in new digs and city (Boise). Shell shocked by the move and grim hunt for rental that accepted nontraditional woman, it was perhaps months before I realized I was practically living on “The Greenbelt”, miles of public trails along the Boise River. Getting to know my new backyard became my job, my joy; meeting and greeting other like-appreciative souls, my self-serving ministry. Of all places, Boise is the “wildest” I've lived in years—who wudda thunk it! In 3 blocks I reach a lake; in 4, Boise River, another lake. Right out my door: bald eagle, heron, mink, beaver, wood ducks, geese; dense cottonwood/box elder/alder thickets. Home! Purr!!
All winter-spring enjoyed sunny day, after sunny day, meeting 2 and 4 footed birdwatchers, other wanderers, residents of the woods. Gloomy Moscow winters were avenged. (Thus far this winter is an entirely different beast: gray, wet, cold. BUT AT LEAST I have wild public trails nearby. When get myself out I'm always delighted.)
‘98 began with a bang. Noticed Edwene Gaines, new thought minister, speaking right here in River City Jan. 2nd. What a way to start The New Year, sezs me, knowing only her reputation as a dynamic speaker on prosperity. No way to adequately describe that one woman show. Tho my heart's desire is for peace and quiet, a few days later, driving on the Connector, I stopped when I noticed money blowing along the side of the freeway! Which led to another adventure for another time. Prosperity acts fast.
Also in Jan. watched lines of sweet senior citizens and some young ‘uns elbow each other to get ahead in the long queues on opening night of registration for everso inexpensive community ed classes, where I continue to volunteer as an instructor (and receive free classes). Competing for ever popular computer classes? (Not my new dance or qigong classes! Nor my yoga, tho all yoga classes fill.)
February. Bonus while off to see-hear Gabrielle Roth (my ecstatic dance guru from NYC) was finding Joann Ballard (from Grand Jct. Toastmasters days) living in Seattle briefly, looking wonderful. Made short work of the intervening 10 years. Trooper that she is, JoA. jumped right in, joined the crowds dancing in the aisles; next thing I knew not so tall grandma JoA. was dancing on stage with Gabrielle!
Just like old times, managed to squeeze in a slow paced, damp, bird outing with Bellinghamsters Barb, Katy and Alice. How lucky I am to have such NW corner friends!
March. Discovered community full moon drum circles at Farmer Brown's, miles west of town. Dancing on moonbeams coming through the high barn window, or outdoors around the fire, I look forward to these gatherings, each so different. Made a couple drum and dance friends among other newcomers. At first I danced. Inevitably I became the proud owner of an indestructible fiberglass (nothing natural about it) dumbek, which will not go dead when I visit damp climes. Driving home from drum shopping in Seattle (musta been Easter) I awkwardly but contentedly accompanied the full length Messiah, drifting from one NPR sta. to the next, across WA and OR.
About this time my low end Walmart bike (locked, of course) was ripped off my 2nd story landing, the modern version of wild west horse stealing, I realized later. Like trappers of old, the treasured leather saddle from my first bike is missed most. Dealing with the discomfort and confusion of events came to a head last winter-spring when I recognizing my life/health was at turning point. Shifted to a higher gear of qigong practitioner (also became yoga apprentice). For spiritual health, began new thought classes and wonder of wonders, church membership. Walked or biked ($5 St. Vinnies replacement) regularly (for me) to lovely willow grove, overseen by grandmother cottonwood to practice qigong. Watching spring unfold on the Greenbelt became my obsession. The first thing I did when I returned from being away, even briefly, would be stop by the river, check water level, willow buds, ducks, etc.
Events such as the day a nearby dead tree fell across the stream before my very eyes, triggering dormant fight or flight mechanism, and discovering the bliss of essence of cottonwood sap are two indelible highlights of my first spring along Boise River!
April. Painful experience of possible collective interest and socially marginal color: multiple, symmetrical, baseball sized bun bites of merciless fiery intensity lasting several weeks. (Bed spider??) During which time Ina Clare made an untimely visit. She hustled home, alarmed at my ferocious itching as we walked down to the river to sniff cottonwoods. This was not the year's only spectacular bug experience… See also August.
May. Never have I seen a bloom of bachelor buttons like Boise's. Replaced my image of Boise as city of dead squirrels with fields of blue. High water on the Greenbelt. Watched weir be raised, canal waters rise and rise. Birds eye view of ducks courting and mating as I stood like a post, practicing qigong faithfully. At last flooded out of “my forest” for several long weeks, during which time I was at a loss to replace my practice site. So engrossed in events of Greenbelt, reluctant to run off to Colorado, even for another excellent Ken Cohen workshop! (But I did.) Likewise hurried home after Folklife and good bye aloha to Spokane Anne (packed lock stock and barrel for Honolulu).
June. Still cool! Ominous marquees proclaimed: “Don't despair, heat will be here.” Met pair of 80 yo fisherman, both Frank, whose reason for breathing is to fish at 6 am 365 days/yr. (Except when Frank#2 went in for artery reaming, or to Las Vegas.) I’d appear on the trail towards the end of their quota of fish, occasionally extending their departure by taking part of their catch home on my return so they could fish at little more. This led to my first experience gutting fish, unfortunately, in an apt.
Medical fund benefit for Boise's premier folksinger, Rosalie Sorrels, in old downtown. Rosalie’s songs, stories and earthiness are one of the reasons this area has always been on my map. “Traveling Lady” has been one of my favorites for decades.
One June weekend finally drove the famous loop through the Sawtooths, falling deeper in love with ID. Seeing the Sawtooths for the first time was like going home to old true loves, like the Tetons and Colorado Rockies. Maybe I am home! Tented near snow banks, watched red neck grebes court; the second night stayed in aspen grove in sagebrush. In the morning noticed the flash of the first indigo bunting since N. Bill Canyon WSA, Utah.
July, August and the first half of September. Nothing could have prepared me for the heat of my first Boise summer. After such a delightful winter, it was a rude shock, tho I’d be warned. Except for 2 wks away, those months are largely a black hole. If I’d known…. All I could do when afternoon sun turned the upstairs into a permanent oven was move life downstairs where I camped and stewed nights on a mat. No air conditioner or fan soothed me. Knew I was in for it when the cool strip that had always hung along the river vanished during July and a hot blanket lay over Boise day and night. No more cool evening strolls down to the river. As my native, downstairs neighbors jogged in the 100+ degree temperatures, I slipped deeper into a coma, of what I realized later, was severe brain fog.
Clue: So hot it never occurred to me to try swimming in until early August. By then the fish were all caught, so shores weren't tackle box to tackle box fisher-families. Suddenly I could actually see the edge of the water and it was beautiful. After swimming in Green Lake [Seattle], don't know how I could be such a snoot about water quality, but I was. I wasn't about to swim with zillions of kids and dogs in icky, warm water. No way. When fishing ceased, crowds disappeared as did my quirks. The hell with the 10 million hooks I knew from talking to fisherpersons to be on the bottom. One morning, returning from qigong, I simply walked right into the cool green water in my whatevers (dress is casual in the gravel pits of wide-ah-ho) and was “hooked”, swimming most every day thereafter into October, missing Green Lake pad’ner Marli with each stroke. Strangely(?) I was often the only one swimming. (Suspect others were home taking out the heat on each other. I was not the only whiner.)
Just before class I’d jump in the lake in my yoga clothes, hoping they'd stay wet as long as possible in Char's tiny hot studio. Only for Char would I roast and tiptoe through turds of 8 canine and 2 huge potbellied pigs to get to yoga. Since Char's the cat's meow of yoga I so do. Imagine finding the right yoga teacher in Boise!
Curious whether the high country was any cooler (only slightly) and backpacking was still as miserable as I recall (yes), I signed up with Sierra Club for an “easy” 5 miler. Never again will I be followed for 5 miles by someone who thought otherwise I’d get lost; nor did I enjoy being overrun by mtn bikers. As always, thought my feet would die.
2 weeks of relief from heat occurred during family rendezvous in Colorado, last half of August (as did more exceptional bug bites). Sighed deeply the night I pulled in and smelled familiar ponderosas on the first cool air in 6 desperate weeks. Stu, Scott and Jamie had arranged for mom to spent time at the cabin, with Stu, then me, then Scott and respective families covering meals and maintenance.
Scott and Jane's Bobby chills out, Aug 98 Stu with Hayley and Noel, Aug 98 One silver lining of that tremendously challenging experience was Stu and I had an especially good visit. Otherwise I called upon nonstop prayer and all my new thought and mediation training as I was with mom, and still felt dreadful. One day Illini George Fredericks, down from Colo. Springs, kept me company. We talked and walked (I swam), while loosely keeping an eye on mom. George arranged for caretakers for his mom while he was away--he understands moms. By evening (my) mom was ready to join us for sensational bbq hamburgers; bless George for bringing ice chest and fresh supplies until I replaced cabin frig.
The following day, while writing on the front deck, accumulated at least 50 (43 by casual census) tiny, once again eerily symmetrical, needle sharp bites. Each time I looked to find who was crawling ‘round, no one was there! Those mysterious hummers lasted weeks, reminding me of acupuncture needles every time clothing brushed them. Especially annoying was the arm pit crop. Unlike April bites, these were too painful to itch. In all my years in Colorado I recall nothing like it!
Bless confused mom, caught between wanting to be alone, missing but not wanting to see Colorado friends, events of the 1920s through ‘50s scrambled…. Did my best to make peace with my greatest teacher; it's back to square one to make peace with myself.
After passing a smoldering mom over to Scott et al., met another Illini, Lorrie Hough, to camp in the Flat Tops. She brought out the most welcome bottle of wine in decades, assisting my restoration with the perspective only an old friend of 30 years can. The gap in our missing decades continues to fill. Marvelous couple of days and nights tenting, enjoying lightning storm, sun, walking, cooking and most of all taking rolls of film (turned out mine weren't worth developing—but it sure was fun).
Lorrie still photographing, Aug 98 Morning after Flat Tops storm Sept. A couple weeks into Sept. heat lifted, and miraculously, life returned to my veins. Leaves fell off overnight, as summer moved directly into winter this year. Braced for the busiest fall in years as I made up for lost time by, among other things, joining Leon's choir of retired women. I like Blue Moon fine, but hold my nose during “I enjoy Being a Girl” and “My Sweet Gypsy Rose”. I’ll never give up my toe rings like Rose did and go back to being good ol’ Mary Jo. No way!
Lyrica's awesome Russian accompanist, Irena (I'm far R)October. Even when one October day I ran away with new drum friend Brandie to explore hot springs and looked down and noticed my silver toe rings were now gold, I only took them off briefly! We're both old Coloradoans who've been away from snow so long we were stepping around like cats in wet grass in our clogs in the beautiful, fresh light snow around Sun Valley to get to the springs!
Halloween weekend, another Ken Cohen qigong workshop. This one conveniently in Grand Jct, where Evette joined me in class and I joined Mike sitting on his new deck, around the fire, outside under cloudy moon, listening to Garrison Keillor. (After all these years, PHC is still one of my favorite hours of the week.) Warmed the first local cider of the season for the occasion.
November. Newcomer that I am to the experience of learning to teach, I've just come up for air from my 3 community ed. classes; plus taking 10 wk. meditation class. That leaves only regular twice a week yoga., holiday sing outs with the choir and Thursdays volunteering with the database in the church office, as regular activities. One choir led to another, I'm part of Mozart's Mass in C major k. 258 that we're told M. wrote when he was a mere boy of 20. Don't leap to the conclusion I sing well; you'd be disappointed, like folks who used to push me to play the fiddle and regret it. Won't be cutting any CDs. Maybe a qigong 101 or meditation tape sometime. Dance/music, I do, not perform. Like I write, not as an author. Finding, then doing what I love is my journey. No link to the biz world yet!
A succinct summary of “My Life in Boise” could be that I discretely bought zucchini at the Farmers Mkt this fall. Could almost hear families telling children: look, that poor woman has no family or friends. It's true! At the same time, after a year here, a woman's group suddenly seems to be coming to me effortlessly. We gathered on my floor sipping tea and talking animatedly a couple of weeks ago, looking forward to more sharing. Several of us who have been asking for friends on a spiritual path seem to have come together at last! 1999 looks good! From this group I had offers to join families for Thanksgiving, tho over the mountains I went to Bellingham per usual. Perhaps next year…
Books. First and foremost: Will James incredible Lone Cowboy: my life story--highly, highly recommended. Also fell in love with Welsh adventurer Tristan Jones (The Incredible Journey; and Ice). Likewise Dougal Robertson's stunning Survive the Savage Sea. Ditto: Stranger in the Forest (Borneo). At long last, Cry of the Kalahari. Thoroughly enjoyed Across the Wide Missouri; Merton's passionate Seven Story Mountain transported me. What's Bred in the Bone? was a wonderful surprise. Maeve Binchey’s warm Irish novels (The Glass Lake, Copper Beach and Echoes) soothed and helped me understand family as I struggled with the Heffalumps (as I fondly call us) last summer. Took a 24 tape novel to calm me down! Most uplifting pick: Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen’s blockbuster Kitchen Table Wisdom, probably the only real book I turned pages of, others being books on tape.
As always life has come full circle, back to what I now realize as my old passion for spiritual anthropology, begun in college in the ‘60s, now resurfacing in my interest in ecstatic dance. In dance class I sometimes use the sort of primitive music I first met in Bruno Nettl’s Ethnomusicology class at the U of Illinois. 30 years ago when I first heard LSB Leakey (teaching anthro 101) describe how he identified a “new” species, from a skull he'd created from shattered bone fragments, right then and there I said NO WAY! Such an outrageous claim in the name of science! It was the first time I realized there's more to life than piecing together skulls--there must be a God. (I’ll not attempt to fill my leap in logic here.) Ironically Leakey introduced me to the idea of a Greater Presence, though I didn't pick it up until recently.
With my passion for words and science I wonder why I didn't find Ernest Holmes Science of Mind sooner—such an obvious fit, except for his glaring, unfortunate exclusion of women. (Answer: who can read it!) Just another opportunity to practice forgiveness. Or, as the British artist Carrington shot back (more or less) in the movie, in response to her marriage to a notorious homosexual, “Always something, isn't there!” So it is with all of us, I suppose, even dear Ernest.)
I release this year with enormous gratefulness and accompanying humor for all its rich experiences. I am especially grateful for old friends far and new friends near. Sharing our lives and stories so enhances life!Love and Blessings to you and yours,
Jeannie
Best address: PO Box 33, Eagle ID 83616
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