And now take the time to write, knit, weave and crochet... I eat good food, I walk the dog and I care about what people think about everything. While I have shelter and sustenance, I am calm and peaceful, but I'm not assured that the serenity I live in now will abide if I were to lose my income and lived under a bridge. I do not live under any illusions that life is fair. I have had too much heartbreak to believe in justice and so have you.
The edge. The letting go. The possibilities. My first solo flight.
A toast to everything that held my hand; held me together; provided security.
But this is the time of whatever, whenever.
I’ll trust my wings, my heart, my desires.
Salud!
(PS: Written nine years ago today, I sat in a candlelit bar, having walked out of work for the last time. With a drink in hand, it was a dark and rainy day. I was alone in my reverie. Tears of joy, of fear, of the unknown? Looking back, I have no regrets.
By now Baby Fox was not so much a baby but she still had so much to learn.
Baby Fox was still all alone and had not found a family. She had become quite adept at hunting for her meals but many times she found herself hungry and shivering from the cold.
Deep winter had set into the mountain. It had snowed mightily leaving deep drifts in all of the valleys and crevices and small niches. She hadn’t found out that in order to prepare for winter she had to find and prepare a den. You see foxes don’t hibernate but they need a warm place to sleep during the day and to hide their prey.
Baby Fox had now a keen sense of sight in the darkest nights. She had slits in her pupils like a cat and like other canines, she could hear the slightest rustling of wings and scuffling under the dense bushes of others just like her, looking for their own nightly meals. But hunting and catching her prey was never easy.
Before the ground froze and snow covered the trees, Baby Fox had learned to eat small birds and small animals that scampered through the forest, but now that the cold had set in in ernest, she slept curled in a tight ball at the root of a tree, and woke at night to find food.
She began her life in a struggle to survive and never had been nourished by her mother’s milk. She was still tiny, though she was a fully developed adolescent fox but hadn’t even learned the skills her mommy would have taught her. As the sun rose over the mountains, her eyes would begin to close even if her tummy was empty. The cold, wet dirt under a bare root became her only bed.
Fortunately, she was as keen of sight and hearing and could smell as well as any animal in the forest even without the benefit of growing up in a fox family. While hunting one night, she ventured farther afield than her usual territory. She came upon a hole she hadn’t seen before. It was hidden under a large stone. Ferns and moss were peeking out from under the snow, which had been protected by an overhanging cliff. She cautiously felt the warmth coming from within and heard soft purring sounds.
As she approached the entrance, whatever was in this den smelled of something awful but strangely attractive. But morning would soon be coming and she knew she couldn’t resist slumber. Maybe, she thought, it could be like when she first found her family as a baby kit. Maybe there were some sisters or brothers to snuggle with. She cautiously approached the entrance, perhaps with too much curiosity but with an instinctual need to sleep and for warmth and comfort.
She put one paw inside, then another. She put her nose to the ground and then lifted it in the air. Though the smell was strong like that of a skunk, which she had foolishly come too close to before, she sensed that it was something different. She was quiet. She began to breathe so as not to make a sound. Whatever was in this deep, black den was sound asleep. Casting all care to the wind, she slumped to the floor, wrapped her fluffy tail around herself, closed her eyes and went helplessly, fast asleep.
The day broke and snow fell heavily on the earth. There was no sunlight that could penetrate the storm. The wind howled and even the wild things that searched for food during the day, were hunkered down. Their backs were hunched as they turned their backs to the wind and closed their eyes.
It wasn’t until late in the day that the storm subsided. Animals began to stir and shake the snow from their backs. Birds, that had not migrated, began to peck where they could, to find seeds and bugs and other life to eat. Other animals tried to paw through the deep snow for any thing they might find. They gnawed on bark and branches. It was a fight to stay alive in the forest on the mountain.
As night began to fall, Baby Fox began to stir. She immediately sensed danger. It dawned on her that she was not the only one in the den. She feared to move a muscle and yet instinctually she knew she had to leave the den to once again hunt for food.
She heard a low growling and a slow movement deep inside. She heard the noise and felt that the creature was ever so slowly creeping closer. She had to flee but as she rose to escape, she bumped up against something blocking the entrance. While she slept, the storm had blown snow firmly and solidly against the opening to the den, trapping both animals inside.
They both needed to get outside. The hair on her back rose and her tail extended and her claws, that were safely hidden, were exposed. She would fight, she thought, if she had to. The other animal suddenly charged. Her hair had grown thick as the temperatures lowered on the mountain. This, and her claws were all the protection that she had. The other animal came at her with a vengeance and they began to tumble in a fight for their lives. They growled and clawed and bit each other. The fight was so violent they broke through the snow that was pressed up against the opening of the den. They both tumbled out onto the fresh snow that was lit by a full moon.
Baby Fox lay as still as if dead. The snow around her turned red but looked black in the moonlight. She knew that the other animal had fled. It was almost twice her size and stronger. She hadn’t really got a good look at it. She felt as though she couldn’t move yet, though she already felt hungry and thirsty. The cold snow felt good on her battered body. It also helped to stop the blood flow.
After some time she began to stir, not because she felt better but out of necessity. She licked her wounds for a bit and made it up on her legs with great difficulty. She couldn’t go far from the den and so she sniffed around for something she might find to eat that wasn’t too much trouble. Something had not survived the snowstorm and was lying beneath a tree not too far away. She was able to tear at the still warm carcass with her tiny but razor sharp teeth, through the hair and break through the skin and she ate as much as she could.
She knew she needed to get to shelter or she would be someone else’s dinner. She knew she was unable to fight or flee. She tore off a chunk of meat and headed back to the den from which she had fled with the meat in her mouth. Once there, she marked the hole with urine both outside and inside, and then she collapsed towards the back of the den in the deepest dark corner. She only hoped that her assailant would not return.
She knew not how long she slept. It could have been that she slept through a night or two before her stomach began to growl and cry out for food. She was also in great pain. When she woke, she ate a little of the meat that she had drug into the den. She then went to work cleaning her wounds. She had small deep gashes on both of her front legs. She had a deep gash on one of her hind quarters. Her body was covered in deep bites. Her jaw was aching and blood dripped from a wound on her skull and one ear, as well.
Baby Fox had survived but it would be some time before she was healed. Fortunately, there was enough food for a couple of days and nights, but she needed water. She pulled herself over to the opening of the den and licked at the snow. Nothing had smelled her blood and so nothing had bothered her yet and her assailant had not returned. She was hurting but getting better every day. She had apparently found a home for the winter and knew where there was food and how to hunt if other animals had eaten the dead carcass that was lying by the tree.
Baby Fox had faced the challenge of a lifetime. What other adventures Baby Fox will have to face is yet to be told. We’ll have to wait for Chapter 3 of The Adventures of Baby Fox.
Hi Sweetie, I live as though I am partially blind. I see something, mask it with a justification and surge onward. I have spent 7 days in a dream of which I came out of only yesterday.
I was hit twice in the temple by a jealous drunk woman, offered a charge of crack and sex by a young beautiful black girl, got sick and broke out in crater sized pimples.
Since I faced myself in the late afternoon yesterday, the flu like symptoms have mysteriously disappeared. Could it be that my body is my best angel?
I am led to strange places by subconscious yet conscious Cubans who have a common river running in their desperate brains. “Can you help me”, they say again and again like a constant chant that fills my good senses with bad ideas.
I must have a need. I push all sorts of interesting but wasteful stuff at it and come away without having accomplished the very thing that I sought to accomplish and then I’m exposed to what I don’t want. Now buried, I can’t see it anymore. Write to me, I will explain what I mean or call.
For ever your friend, Karen
2
OK baby, Denial is holding on to what already has died but one won’t learn the lesson of it because feeling and thinking the same old shit is easier. Or, once again, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.
Why are you hanging out in bars with shaky Latinos? You’re bobbin’ up-and-down with 3 fingers out of the water. The Cubans are only there to take the rings off your fingers before you go down for good.
You can’t possibly believe that you’re having fun. Where are your guts? Do something different. Don’t go dancing even if you really want to. Don’t rationalize your wants around your desperate needs. This time is not about you but about your family. There is enough there to fill your days and nights. Fuck the-guys-in-the-club thing for a big 8 weeks. I will meet the challenge with giving up or doing what you ask of me for 8 weeks.
I am worried about your recklessness. It is not 1970 when there were virtually no consequences to taking drugs or in a one night stand. I am worried you do not understand you can drop dead, you can get Aids, you can get herpes, you can nose dive and never get out of the spin. I don’t think you can see what your going out and coming back beat up must look like to your family.
Your recklessness in going out and looking for trouble is scaring the hell out of everyone who loves you. Don’t you care? Who is out there cheering you on? What are you thinking? You know what you are shootin’ for while you are in the clubs. Do you have the courage to say it? Is it worth it right now? What happens if your family says enough is enough?
I am ready to hear how mad you are that I would write this. I am ready to read where you see I am fuckin’ up. I am so ready.
I do love you. I check my email every day.
Love, MB
3
Sorry for jumping up-and-down on you in the last email I just don’t get the attraction to the same old scene that chews you up and spits you out again I don’t want to see you keep cripplin’ your relationship with your family because you want to be worshiped by anyone who is willing. You have so much wonderful experiences around you right now at this moment and the moment will not last long.
I check my email everyday. Feel free to write whatever, something like I have. I am not afraid to hear anything although, I might bark a little.
Still your friend? MB
4
Hi Sweetie, Will you please stop being afraid to speak your mind with me. Do you think that I don’t know what your reaction will be when I tell you the things that I do? I expect that someone who loves me as much as you do will tear me up when I fuck up. I give you, if I haven’t already, permission to nail me to the wall, beat me with a stick until I cry out for more love… but I know that I won’t quit going out dancing. I just want to get smarter, quicker. It only took me 7 days to open my eyes. Actually they were open all the time. I justify my blindness. I am gaining much needed experience and will hope to learn more each day. I will find out about myself. I will, I will, I will.
Mexico is the next stop, baby. I have to head home in order to arrive by the 28th. I will arrive late if I can come and see you again.
Gotta go. And by the way, nobody is influencing me. My friend is appalled at my attraction for the wild side. She prefers to die slowly, I, the quick and handy way.
The very first thing that I can remember losing was my Grandma’s diamond wedding ring. I was only 14 years old. What in the world was she doing gifting a precious diamond wedding ring to her 14 year old granddaughter, anyway?
This was not the first time that this wedding ring had been lost. Grandma was an avid and master gardener. Her yard was filled with fragrant and beautiful blossoms and a lawn that she hand picked the weeds from on her hands and knees. The garden was filled with bird song. She loved those birds as though they were her own children.
One time she lost the ring herself. She didn’t know where but lamented it’s loss deeply. On one lucky day, Grandpa was helping her pull up the spent plants, while they prepared the garden for winter, and pulled up the ring clinging to the roots of one of the petunias. You can see why that ring was even more precious to her than just a wedding ring.
It hurt so bad having to confess that I’d lost it. Grandma and I were as thick as thieves. She was the keeper of my secrets that she took to her grave. I could have moved myself into her tiny house, hook line and sinker, and never looked back. I had to content myself with spending weekends with her. Though she only lived around the block from us I could never get enough of her sweet presence.
I first confessed to Mom that while swinging in the park the ring had come off and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom was not one who would soften the blow by telling Grandma about my foolishness. I had to face up to it on my own. “What in the world was I doing wearing that ring anyway”, she chided me.
I think it was too hard for me to hold my Grandma’s reaction in my memories. My Grandma was not one to ever be mad or to express her anger, if she ever was, I can’t remember.
To know that I had hurt and disappointed Grandma was enough punishment for me. I still cry over that ring. I wonder who might have found that it. I wish it had been me.
The Rug
Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce
The next thing I remember losing is a hand woven chief’s rug that was given to us by Jack’s Aunt Helen. She was married to his Uncle Hank. Aunt Helen (nee Phinney) was a Nez Perce, a descendant of Chief Joseph. It was evident at the Pow Wows we attended with her, that she was highly regarded among the tribes of the Northwest Territory.
This rug was passed down to her through her family and then she gifted it to Jack, my husband, who she dearly loved. Aunt Helen was fierce. She was diminutive yet strong. One did not cross her in deed or in word.
Aunt Helen’s face was round and flat and colored a soft brown. She always wore a dress and had steel grey hair cut short, and she walked the earth as though she had a specific purpose in mind to her walking. And no doubt she did.
I kind of feared yet respected Aunt Helen, and yet you could feel her love. Her love felt a bit like ownership, possessiveness. Her home on Johnson Creek road was a treasure trove of Indian artifacts. Her yard was a secret garden if there ever was one. It didn’t surprise me at all that she entrusted Jack with this precious rug. He was family though only by marriage. She had a family of her own which I’m sure she gave many gifts.
One year we were moving out to the Columbia River Gorge, the land of the Indians. Now, the Gorge is home to the Confederate Tribes of the Warm Springs, the Yakima Nation, the Nez Perce Tribe and the Cofederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation.
We obviously, not so carefully, stashed the rug in the bed of the pickup. Somewhere along the Washington side of the river, the rug blew out of the truck. Did we realize when we were unpacking that the rug was missing or did it take us some time before we realized that the rug was no longer with us. I can’t remember.
I wonder all the time who might have found that rug. One thing I know for sure is that unless they did some research they have no idea what a treasure they have in their possession.
I think of that rug quite often and mourn our carelessness. The only thing that would make me happy is if a member of one of the tribes had found the rug and perhaps had found its rightful owners. Maybe they might have celebrated that the spirit/s had returned that rug.
The Tapestry
The next thing I lost was a Franklin Mint Tapestry that my mom bought me at no small cost. This is a Tapestry titled, The Royal Hunt, designed by Marc Waymel for Franklin Mint.
The Royal Hunt
According to some on Google, the tapestry can be seen in a scene from the series, Outlander.
The tapestry can now be purchased online from several different websites for around $200 to $300. For years now I’ve been wanting to buy one online. Maybe this is the year.
In the year 2000, I moved to Los Angeles to get my master’s degree in History focusing on folklore and mythology. I packed up everything I owned and put it in a storage unit. That was my first mistake.
I rolled up my tapestry with the hanging rod and slid it down into a CD rack. It fit perfectly. My second mistake is that I didn’t think carefully about the construction of the unit. One could climb on top of the storage areas and the only covering/roof was chicken wire. This storage unit was inside of one of those really large buildings that have multiple floors with multiple units on every floor. I thought everything was safe.
When I returned 2 years later to unpack my unit and bring everything in to my new house, I realized the tapestry was missing. Coincidentally, I was moving Mom in with me. There was no way I could hide the absence of the tapestry. I didn’t wait until she asked and I confessed. That was a really sad day for me. Mom didn’t have much money as a retired administrative nurse and this was a huge loss to us both.
I’ve now lived without the tapestry for more than 20 years, 23 years as a matter of fact. I’ve never quit missing this tapestry and think of it all the time. I wish I knew which tapestry out there was mine.
Some that are for sale say “some light fading or some wear and tear” but mine was perfect when I put it into my storage unit. Should I risk buying one knowing that perhaps I’m getting one that won’t s assuage my sadness over losing the tapestry? Or should I just let it go and enjoy the fact that Mom bought this for me and it’s in my memory now forever?
Who has my tapestry that my mom gave me out of love? I don’t like that you have it. It still makes me a bit angry that you climbed up on top of other people’s storage units and looked down on our personal belongings and thought that you had the right to steal things that perhaps have great value to us. I hope that every time you look at my tapestry you feel guilty. I suppose you sold it immediately thinking you’d get a small fortune. I hope that the memory of your theivery haunts you to this day.
The Photos
And then there was The Polio Poster photos. I wish Mom was still alive for me to ask some questions about these photos.
In the photos I am in an arm brace and wearing a beautiful, cotton, purple and yellow dress with purple pearl buttons. My blonde hair was in soft, long curls. I was just 5 years old and I was a victim of the virus.
There was also featured in the glossy photos, a famous actress, a chimpanzee and a huge television camera. If memory serves me right, I think on the side of the camera were the letters for KOIN TV in Portland, Oregon… or was it KPTV, another TV station.
I know the photos were being taken to feature in polio posters and I was to be a poster child. This was probably in 1953 or ’54. I had contracted polio before the polio vaccine was distributed. The March of Dimes, in particular, raised a campaign against the epidemic.
My photographs were not chosen for the campaign. I think I wasn’t “crippled” enough. Looking at the posters from that era, they featured mainly children who were in leg braces and crutches. The posters were created to generate sympathy and therefore donations for children who were victims of infantile paralysis and to promote the vaccine.
However, we received the original photographs from that time and I should be happy that I wasn’t “crippled enough”.
For all my life I looked at those photographs but at some point they disappeared. I have all of the old family photographs except for these. Being a researcher, I have looked at all of the obvious places that might have them archived. No such luck.
Postscript
Dr. L James Lewis, an employee of Dr. Jonas Salk, injects a rhesus monkey with the inert vaccine, weeks before its release.
Postscipt: The claim is that research to find a vaccine for poliomyelitis was never used on chimpanzees.
Yum Yum doesn”t like to be cold but prefers the luxuriant scarves that cover and offer the warmth needed on a pre-autumnal day of grey clouds and damp streets.
She might stay here all day in her reverie of summer days… who’s extreme heat also is not to her liking.
She longs for spring days that neither intensely burn nor send chills through her sensitive constitution.
I will provide the lush environment that pleases her.
The Wild Blueberry, Bad Sheep socks are done. I only wish this photo did the color of the deep blue justice. It doesn’t begin to capture the color.
Even though we are a full month away from autumn, I’m anxious to put these babies on. They will look amazing with my Birkenstocks.
Now, I’ll go back to working on my Magnolia sweater. It’s been sitting all summer while I waited for more yarn to arrive. The kid silk came from Latvia. After months, it finally got here. Now to try to figure out where I left off.
I’m glad I had these beautiful socks to work on, as well as some other projects, like another pair of socks for Hannah and Nori and a hat for Jesse.
Now I want to find some woolly DK self striping sock yarn in autumn and winter colorways to make some more socks. A girls gotta have a simple project on the needles too for when one needs a break from knitting a lace pattern.
The late summer weather is beautiful and pleasant, though we’re looking at some heat coming our way for next week. I’m loathe to let summer go as I wait patiently for cooler weather and fall color.
We had a thunderstorm last night with pouring and pounding rain, bright white flashes of lightning and booming, rolling thunder and wind blowing the trees sideways. It blew by. It lasted for just under 20 minutes.
I counted the first burst of sound and flash of light that woke me from an uneasy sleep, just like Mom had taught me to do. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.” It was right over head as it headed west. I quit counting at seventeen one thousand… it was traveling across the midnight sky.
Then just as suddenly as it began, all was quiet again. The trees stood still and the undisturbed darkness returned. The smell of wet pavement blew in my open window as the drops of rain fell on the warm streets.
When I woke this morning, we’re back to the heat with bright sunshine. The sky is light blue with high fluffy clouds thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.
The light is a soft, muted golden yellow. Even the air itself, as if it were visible, shimmers. I think because of the slow and gradual transitioning to autumn, and the extreme heat we’ve suffered, the leaves are starting to turn on the trees and fall to the ground.
What a sight to see and remember in this late August time.
eyeamdust 