What’s That Chemical smell?

The secret

The culprits

I’ve been noticing what I thought was a toxic chemical smell since moving into my new apartment… I thought. That was my first mistake.

I thought it was coming from my refrigerator like “freon” or something. Like a responsible tenant, I put in a work order for the maintenance guys to come up and take a look.

One guy came in and said he could kind of smell something. But it wasn’t the refrigerator, he assured me.

He sent up the main maintenance guy and the head staff person, clipboard in hand. After pulling the refrigerator out from the wall and opening all the cabinets and closets, they also said they couldn’t smell anything but thought that perhaps it was my plethora of jars of herbs and spices.

So they sent up another staff member, head financial officer, who they said has a better sense of smell. She said, “What I’m smelling is something like old fruit, you know when it begins to decompose”. I said, “No possible way, everything I have is fresh”.

She kept looking around, not willing to give up. Finally she opened up one of my vegetable drawers and sure enough, when she moved my bag of lemons, they were rotting, molding and off-gassing.

Well, as you might imagine, I was embarrassed. From what I could see looking into that drawer, they were fine. I swore everything in my refrigerator was fresh. But obviously not. They were busy hiding a secret. How could I have missed this?

There’s still some residual odor but I’ll make sure that it’s just the lemons. Because to me it smelled like a chemical. I even claimed the smell was giving me a headache.

Of course, fruit, when it off-gases and ferments, puts off a chemical smell, like ammonia. It’s definitely a chemical process. Right?

The worst part of this is that I alerted the entire staff of the apartment facility. All but the leasing agent showed up. I can just hear them now, “You know that new tenant? Did you hear what she did?”  I’m probably marked as “that crazy person in #409”.

I’ll laugh about this later but right now it doesn’t seem so funny.

I’m fine with Watching the World Go By

I’m Fine

I’m fine with watching the world go by.

I don’t feel the need to have ideas, projects and goals.

What could possibly be wrong with just sitting and staring out the window,

And enjoying a hot cup of anything for hours on end?

What interest have I in your wars, in your criminal activities, in your hatred and your lies?

What care I for your struggles for wealth and domineering power?

In what interest do I share with you for  generations of ownership of property and land?

I’ve had a pleasant life of accomplishments, work and study, love and family,

With never a desire or intent to hurt a living soul, without hatred for anything.

And now I am content to sit and watch the world go by.

Do your worst because, I will no longer participate. I will no longer try to save you or try to change you.

It’s my time to rest and reflect. And so that is what I will do… like birds of a feather.

My protest in silence.

The Little Palm That Could

The Little Palm

I don’t know why but I wanted to see if I could grow a palm tree from Arizona. So right before I left from my last visit with Tracy and Kelly, Kelly dug up this little sprout from their front yard. I put it in a plastic bag with the tiny root wrapped in a wet paper towel and carried it home in my purse.

It was just two fronds at the time. I didn’t hold out much hope because I had failed with growing a Saguaro cactus. Those don’t like being out of their home environs at all.  When I got home, I stuck it in this terracotta pot, located it in a sunny, south facing window and gave it a little water now and then.

As many of you know, I just moved three weeks ago and thought I would leave this little plant behind since it hadn’t shown any signs of life.

When Hannah asked me if I wasn’t going to take it with me, I just said, “Oh, put it outside, see if it survives. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t, and if it does, it does”. I was so nonchalant and careless. Hannah said, “Mom, you better take a look at it”.

I hadn’t really paid much attention to it in the last little bit. But, lo and behold! Look at this beautiful frond coming up and it’s put on height, as well!

I’ve been apologizing to it for giving up so easily. Perhaps it knew that winter would soon be over and spring was coming and it was time to come alive. I don’t know. I’ll never know.

Now every day I say, “I love you little Arizona palm. I will never give up on you again. I promise”.

Sharing the Small Things

I most definitely must resist texting friends and family about mundane daily thoughts and happenings so as not to bore them.

I woke today almost at noon after falling asleep after 4 am. I had a sleepless night, thanks to chocolate. I never worry at this. I know I can sleep eventually. And so I listen to meditations, wisdom talkers and utter foolishness.

I found that sleeping in the early morning hours until late morning are some of my most valued times of deep rest. The dreams are more vivid and profound. I seem to go deeply, deeply asleep and am not easily woke. I wake with a sense of  deep rest, my body relaxed, maybe even a little bit out of body and refreshed.

I wake hungry and look forward to my first cup of coffee of the day.  I’m anxious to check in on social media to see if anyone has something to say about anything. I wonder if anyone is wondering about me,

I wonder if I’ve had a call or a text asking if I’m over the flu, how the unpacking is going and if I’m feeling settled yet, if I’m ready yet to meet for lunch and checking if I’m ready to go back to the pool anytime soon.

My first thought is to text somebody, and to say, ” I couldn’t sleep last night, so I just woke up and it’s already past noon.” I want to tell them that I’m planning on unpacking more dishes today. But perhaps these aren’t the things that people look forward to reading.

Then, why are these the things I want to share? I want to tell somebody that the blue sky is mottled with soft scattered clouds of beige and grey, that I can see the hills beyond the river.

I want to tell somebody that it’s imbolc, and actually there are already the first signs of spring. That I’ve given up insisting that spring comes only on a certain calendar date and not before, in spite of what my eyes tell me.

I want to share with someone that the palm I brought home from Arizona is living, and that a hummingbird came to my door. I want to explain that I’m still not knitting. I want to say that I’m too tired from moving.

And there are thousands of other things I want to share. And so dear reader, you are my someone with whom I can share these thousand and one things.

I hope you don’t mind my sharing of small things, of this, that and the other thing. I hope it brings you closer to the meaning of life. That it is these small things that make up a life.

So, feel free to share with me, dear friend, your small things. I’m waiting to hear them.

In My New Home

My view is such a wide expanse of sky that I can watch as clouds break and pools of sun move across the landscape.

Where I am home in a white box of five hundred and sixty six square feet.

Exactly

Where a lifetime of gathering objects of beauty is reduced to twenty boxes.

Exactly

Where I look for nooks and crannies where I can find comfort in the familiar.

Where I used to gather belongings and those I love, now I discard of necessity.

Where four stories up, I have a view. Birds fly across the sky, from tree to tree.

Where everything else has diminished, the sky is expansive and reminds me,

That I am not diminished.

Now That I’m Old. Where Am I Going?

My loft: packing up

After 13 years of living together with my daughter in a big old house in NE Portland, with my two grandchildren, it’s time for us to part ways. The children are grown and my daughter is seeking her freedom.

If it were plausible and possible, I would stay here for the rest of my life. But now that I’m 77 years old, it’s time for me to have found cheaper digs and fewer stairs.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m full of trepidation about my physical well – being. I survived polio at 5 years old that left me with a weak right arm, the deltoid not having survived the paralysis. I also survived a terrible bout with cancer and 8 months of chemo when I was 56 years old. One does not escape cancer or chemo unscathed.

I’ve had a very eventful and adventurous life. I went full bore into it. Because of this, my body, my soul, my head and my heart are full of memories. I realize now that there are fewer years ahead of me than are behind me and I fully enjoy reminiscing and writing about my life.

I have said this before and I’ll say it again. I’m not afraid of dying, but I am afraid of living. Age is taking its toll on me with crackling joints and weakening muscles, a slower and less elegant gait and increasing girth.

I understand fully our vulnerability. We are assailed on all sides by decline and a world made very scary by other humans, natural disasters and accidents and by other living things and the intervention of technology. But I have lived bravely and brightly.

So because of my age, I admit to some fear about moving on my own into unfamiliar territory and at this age, when I am not in my prime… not even close to it. And we are living in uncertain times. Let’s not get into politics, except to say:

I would be foolish to not wonder if this country will continue to support me with MY Social Security and MY retirement fund, which I have earned and are not a hand out from the government.

What began this story was when a friend asked if I were worried about my daughter going basically on her own without children and without me. I responded with a resounding, NO! and here’s why:

At her age, I had been divorced. Had started going to university. Spent a year in Mexico, including a semester at the University of Queretero and traveled throughout Mexico with the curator of the Museum of Art of the same cty.

Upon returning I had an amazing 3 year affair with a beautiful Cuban. Moved to Tallahassee on a fellowship, traveled cross country on a train. I found shortly after one semester that the deep south was not for me.

So I moved to Santa Monica to attend UCLA on another fellowship. By that time, I had finished 11 years of university at 5 different schools. I moved back to Portland and started a beautiful career at OHSU as their first and only professional archivist, retiring after 16 years.

When I moved back to Portland, I moved my mother in with me. Fell for an Indian Sikh. Had cancer and survived surgery, and 8 months of chemo. My mother and I lived together 8 years when she passed away. She stayed at home with me until the day she passed.

Since moving back to Portland, I had moved 4 times by the time I moved in here with my daughter. And now, here I am, moving again, not totally by choice.

So do I have any worries concerning my daughter?

She is made up of the same stuff as I am and maybe more. It’s her story so without giving any detail, I will just say, she got her massage therapy license while she raised two children alone and finished her BS degree. She’s now Spa Drector where she has worked as lead therapist for 14 years. She supports herself. She’s physically healthy and strong.

Nope, I’m not worried about her at all, any more than any mother would. For sure this is more about me than about her. But when my friend asked, if I was worried about this time of change, it caused me to reflect on life. Actually, I look forward to hearing about her adventures from here on out, about her brave and bright life.

Forced Words. Hurt.

The grating dissonance of a poem that is supposed to rhyme,

But does not.

Forced words. Hurt.

A flow of words appearing in prose, don’t.

Yet well placed words, like river rocks,

Just the right distance apart as you leap from one to another,

Safely reaching the other side.

That exhilarating feeling of not having gotten wet.

Those words have fallen naturally into place,

Just as those river rocks, being forced only by nature,

By water and earth’s movements,

Creating kind of a chaotic beauty that human hands could never form.

Pleasing to the eyes and to the ears as the water that gives life, rushes over them.

The Cat that Stalks Me

I can’t believe I’m able to do this. I can’t believe that day after day, I can put one foot in front of the other and put one thing in a box, and one thing in a bag, and end the day, still putting things in bags and boxes.

Useless, precious, beautiful objects of my affection. Proof of my existence. And one day no one will care for them nor remember me.

This hard work and I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing or where I’m going. And even less whatI I’m supposed to be doing or where I should be going. I try not to think about it too much. I just keep doing.

This is how I’ve lived my life. When a door opens, I just go in. Not putting much thought into it. And here I am getting closer and closer to the end of my life and still living the same way. But more aware than ever of futility.

And now worry stalks me like a dangerous and silent cat in the wild would. I am it’s prey and it, my predator.

I think it’s always been with me. I used to not notice it. But these days, I’m made aware of it by weakness creeping in, by my slowing gait, by increasing frailty.

I’m aware of its footsteps falling almost imperceptible except for a rare snap of a twig, or a small tumble of a stone. but still closely behind. I’m beginning to hear it’s heavy breathing when I hush. I hear its snuffling at my foot prints left in the soft soil I call my life.

It is there in the night with only the stars and the moon as my companions… no protection at all but, I remind myself, I still can call up fire. But it never rests and so neither can I. I can sometimes see its eyes glowing in the flickering flames.

During the daylight hours, I am distracted mostly, but these days, not like in the past. What will I do when I can no longer move forward, when I must lay down, when rest is needed more than life itself?

Then I will lie down. Then worry and wonder and unknowing will no longer stalk me. Then I will rest.  Then, I will no longer need the strength that now I do.

So now, before I lay me down, I will put some more things in bags and I will put some more things in boxes.

Good night, big and beautiful and wild cat. I hear you breathing softly.

The Owl and the Flight of the Crows

I wanted to tell you something just in case I forget. It was New Year’s Eve and…

we were out on the sidewalk about to get in the car to drive to a party. We were stopped in our tracks and we quickly hushed. Was that an owl? Yes. It had to be a big owl because it had a very big voice and its message was urgent, if I might extrapolate. It was in the fir tree next door to our house.

I was surprised because I hear owls all the time in our yard, but they’re small owls. Neighbors have been able to catch photos of them but I have only heard them on *Merlin. We live just blocks away from a large park where predator birds are regularly seen.

This might have been a forewarning of what was to come at the party that evening.

The story is about crows and owls and not the disturbing occurrence at the party that night. But there was a huge upset that evening. We left the party early. I didn’t think of the owl’s presence and warning until days later.

On our way home, we drove downtown to look at the Christmas lights and the street parties going on. Cafes, bars and restaurants were in full party mode. People filled the sidewalks and were walking al】nd standing in the streets as music emanated from indoors.

The annual Christmas tree in the square was lit up and probably could have been seen from space. The theaters were emptying out after shows onto the streets.

In the square, live music was playing, and it was packed out with people streaming in, dancing and laughing and talking. Everyone was in a party mood.

On every street corner, there were people selling the most amazing lights suspended on poles. They looked like giant dandelion seed heads of iridescent colors swinging in the night air.

In spite of the upset at the party, the night ended well. When we got home, we made mimosas and stayed awake until the clock struck midnight and we welcomed in 2026.

I didn’t think again about the owl until the day before yesterday, I woke early in the morning just at daybreak and looked about a block away at a very, very large deciduous tree. The entire tree was covered in crows. I mean covered. More ornamental than bobbles on a christmas tree.

More crows were attempting to land on the tree but there wasn’t much room, so an occasional displaced crow would fly into the sky while another landed. Suddenly, the sky was filled with crows, heading for that tree from the east.

There were hundreds of crows in the sky, and the crows on the tree flew up into the air as well, turning the sky almost black with a riotous noise of crowing.

At the time, I couldn’t imagine what might be going on that there was such a gathering. Was it an event of the local groups of murders? Was it something in the air, at a specific date and time? Was this an ominous warning from the crows that I should be paying attention to?

All of a sudden and all at once:

they headed towards our yard and like a black cloud they landed in the maple tree next door to our shed and in the maple in our yard. It was mind blowing, to say the least.


What I didn’t know was that Hannah was outside, under this huge flight of crows, so she had a better view of what was really going on.

In the maple tree was a gigantic owl. Could it be the same one that had been warning us on new year’s eve? As the crows came in for a landing, the owl stretched its huge wing span and took to the sky.

Hannah swears that the crows were chasing the owl out of their territory. As the owl took off, the crows lifted from the trees where they had landed and soon vanished.

It was absolutely amazing. I know the Audubon says that we need to accept the crows as the new urban bird. But I’ve struggled with that because they do eat the eggs of our song birds. But it was both beautiful and frightening… ominous.

I’m so glad I woke to see it.

* Merlin is a free bird ID app by Cornell Lab of Ornithology

I Don’t Want to Live Long… Unless:

What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?

Unless you’re physically and mentally in good health, it is my opinion that one should, as well as might be accomplished, pass on gratefully and peacefully.

When I say, ” in good health”, both physically and mentally, I am aware that good health is relative to each individual. I intimately know what it means to me. I have been nigh unto death twice in my life.

As for me, I do not want to live disabled,  physically confined to a wheelchair nor in a bed nor in a nursing home staring at the walls. Nor would I want to live with dementia. My grandmother had dementia, and it was torturous, more so for her, but also for those of us who loved her dearly.

As my mom used to say when she was dying on hospice, I do not want my heart to keep on beating when my mind ceases to function. I am in complete agreement with that sentiment.

Many members of my family have lived very long lives, some even passed one hundred years. When I was younger, I thought I wanted to follow in their footsteps. I no longer have that wish.

Now that I’m nearing 80, I know what pain is. I know what it is have your organs begin to fail. I know what it is to feel myself getting weaker, though I work on my physical body constantly.

I know what it is to be disrespected by those that are younger. I know what it is to be disregarded, though I am educated and my intellect is still intact. I make an effort to learn new things every day.

But in spite of all of that, I love my life. I enjoy my memories. I love each season in turn. I have had an adventurous life. I have been loved good and bad. As I like to say, “I have been ridden hard and put away wet”.  And I have no regrets. I can say with a keen certainty that I fear life more than death.

For now, I will live my life just as I wish… anyway, as well as my diminutive finances will let me. I am satisfied with what I have. But I don’t wish to live without my health and an ability to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly.

When I was younger, and my life was full of new experiences, I often said, “Leave when you have to; stay as long as you can”. I realize now that wasn’t always the best advice. But it sure made for an interesting life.