Hal Hillman "Papa" 1926-2009

That's my Papa. He was a very handsome man. He meant many things to me as a young woman and his vital role in my life changed over the years. I learned at a very young age how to tell if it was a snuggle-Papa-like-crazy day or an avoid-Papa-at-all-costs-day. He, like me, was never good at hiding what kind of space he was in. If he was in a happy space everyone knew it. He showed it by laughing loudly, squeezing your butt and making a sound something like "bahhhhhruuuuch!!". Sometimes it hurt but you still loved it because he shined so brightly in those moments. You were special. You were loved by the Pops.

He was an incredible cook. He was extra proud of his spaghetti and clam sauce and boasted that his were the all time best pancakes ever made, any where. I will admit that everything he made was delicious especially those pancakes which he filled with fresh blueberries, bananas and walnuts.

He showed love freely and openly and I'll never forget the feeling of kissing the skin on his paradox of a face: scratchy-scruffy but smooth and soft. His smell...which Nana says can not be attributed to any one cologne since he used a wide variety, was markedly delicious. Nana says it was just his smell. His smell which I can still remember and hope to never forget. While all the kids were in Florida, after his passing, I walked into his closet and caught Jason smelling his clothes in search of at least one shirt or jacket that held on to even the faintest trace of him. No such luck. It was his secret potion that disappeared from his clothes the moment he took them off. The magic of his scent was emmanated from him and him alone. No cotton or polyester could fake the glory of Hal Hillman. No way. Even so, I joined Jason in the search and was equally disappointed to find no trace of him.

My memories are plentiful and yet lacking. He was a regular part of my life from day one and therefore melts into the background of days gone by. Lots of memories of breakfasts and dinners with he and Nana. Many of them also include Charlie, my cousin closest in age. A whole bunch of sleep-overs at their house where Nana would lay talking to me until late in the night before retreating to sleep in her own room. When I was younger, he often gave me a hard time about something or other. In elementary school it was my average grades, in high school it was the way I dressed or my hair which needed brushing (it did). But his hard words were balanced with praise for my art work which he and Nana loved. I gave most of it to them over those years. Once Papa gave me the oil paints he bought for an art class he took. He didn't end up using them too much and was frustrated with his inability to create the way he wished he could. He was always a little jealous of my ease with drawing but praised me just the same. He had many talents of his own.

I have some memories with him that were hard. Getting slapped in the back seat for giggling too much (I was young and giggly with Charlie), getting an earful about how I was "in never never land and didn't know the real world which was not all peachy creamy like I thought it was" (I was happy and cheerful and he was clearly not that day), hearing him say something totally racist about a family that walked in front of my car (we are Jewish for goodness sake). I was afraid to say anything to him as a kid when he was said things that were mean or that I felt were wrong, but as I got older I found that I had to. I couldn't hold back. He started referring to me as the district attorney. "Anyone's getting picked on and here's Maddi to defend them". He said it jokingly but it was true and I heard it again and again. Many times my responses to him were as simple as "Papa!!" And he would mimic me but I know it seeped in a bit.

It was hard for him later as he was often so uncomfortable with back pain or neck pain or leg pain and would be grumpy due to that. I would go behind him and place my hands on his shoulders and massage him. Sometimes his pain was too intense and in those moments I would just sit my hands on his shoulders and pray for the pain to calm down. He always thanked me and said I had magic hands. Love IS magic.



How do you absorb the fact that a very loved one is gone? And what comfort do you find in their passing? They are no longer in pain. They are at peace. They lived a good life and were loved by many. Yeah, it helps. It has been a hard 15 months for my family and especially my grandmother. How impossible it must be to watch your husband of 60 years nearly die and then improve and then get worse and then improve and then finally, to die. I think of her every day. I think of my aunt who now goes to work everyday knowing her father isn't upstairs in his room. I think of my mom who struggled with loving him and hating him most days of her life. I think of his mother who died when he was three. Is he with her now? Is that true? Is he with his grandmother who died when he was 13?

Amazing that he created such a legacy out of such a broken family. He held family above all else and taught that to us well. Thing is, we now have to learn how be family without him. Not that we don't know how. The bonds in our family are strong; we are solid and love one another deeply. Its just weird to think of it. It saddens me greatest to think that he won't meet his great grandchildren. I laugh at how many times I actually wanted to have a baby right away for him to enjoy meeting and cuddling. I wasn't fast enough.

I didn't want my writing here to be sad or depressing. I just wanted to write about Papa. I will miss him so much. I will save the voicemail on my phone for as long as I can: "Hi darling this is Pops. I just want to find out how everything is. Miss you, love you, and goodbye". I will hear his whistle or his silly songs, I will smell his cologne or his delicious cooking, I will hold on to my love for him for as long as I live. And I will tell my kids about him and they will know him through our stories. And his memory will live on through future generations.

What a sadness in his eyes in the last year. Where I just wanted to jump in that bed and squeeze him so hard he would fill up with love and relax into it. His eyes, with the respirator down his throat...I heard them cry for release. Like my sweet dog Cass, when she was roaming around looking for an entrance into the woods and I forced her back into the cabin so she would rest. That look of being done. Of being so uncomfortable that death seems a gift and all that you held near during life are miles away, hidden behind layers and layers of the nagging distraction of discomfort. I want to remember him different than that and I do. It is just hard to forget the look.



He did have time though. He had time to apologize to my mom for being so hard on her. I got to tell him how much i loved him, how he was such an important father figure in my life, how grateful I am for that. He was still mean to Nana for too many visits. Even then, he couldn't see what he had. Dementia was setting in, they said. He was wiping at things that weren't there and saying things that didn't make sense. This was so hard on Nana...how strong she is, how much she loved him through all the muck and mire. Her advice is good. How do we respond to the hard times with our loved ones? The good times are easy she said...wow I love that woman. I pray to God that she stays healthy and gets to know her great grandchildren like she should.

I miss her. She is so far away. I am so thankful she has Pete, her little dog.

How quickly it must go. Our lives which seem so long at times. When you have reached the end, it must seem that only yesterday were you riding your bicycle or kissing your girlfriend or bouncing your grandkids on your knee. A flash of light brings it back and then all is quiet. The here and now will finally catch up to you. I hope his passing was painless. He saught relief from that pain for so, so long. I hope that in the end he was calm and that he looked up at the nurse that was with him and I hope she was beautiful.

Kisses to you Papa where ever your spirit dances. You are loved and you are forgiven for all your punky times. Just hang out with Nana for a bit if you can. She'd love a sign of your presence, but if not, just be there and help her feel that you are there, that you adore her, that you thank her for all she gave you.

HOPE: Si Se Puede!!!

Check out my sweet friend Simmy feeling the love, feeling his future, begging the nation to evolve.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXTK2by8dLI

Here we are, 6pm PST election night. We got PA! I am hopeful and still there are butterflies galore in my belly. Remember the last few times? I thought we had it...and then we didn't. But who's to say? Who knows? Destiny is strong. Perhaps Bush had to make such a mess of things to wake up enough of those red folks. I mean, really, Sarah Palin? That feels like begging to lose plenty of those republican votes, you know? Is this where we get to a place in the VERY YOUNG history of the U.S. where the nation finally grows a few inches?

Its a hard day. One doesn't like to get our hopes so high to only be crushed by a nation of lie-believers. Come on, Barack Obama a terrorist? A crack-cocaine addict? A murderer? People....seriously? And you have the right to vote? Whew....scary.

Okay, I'll take my nervous excitement to the house down the road to a house with friends, a TV and some warm stew.

Before I go, a prayer:
Dear God....Sweet Spirit...All that is right, all that is just, all that makes a child giggle...that which binds us with love to ourselves and each other and all the critters hunkered down for the cold, rainy night....please, let freedom reign.

End of the Line

Well it's alright...riding around in the breeze
Well it's alright...if you live the life you please
Well it's alright...even if the sun don't shine
Well it's alright...we're going to the end of the line



We will to work together to reach our greatest potential.
We will support one another as we embrace our truth.
We will honor and embrace the challenges we pose to one another.
We will work together to envision the future we hope for and welcome the lessons that come.
We will seek balance between nurturing the self and nurturing our relationship.
We will celebrate life's blessings together and laugh together when shit happens.
We will work through our challenges and disagreements with respect, compassion and love.
We will apologize when it is necessary and accept apologies when they are offered.
We will make tradition, ritual and connection to Spirit an integral part of our lives and the lives of our children.
We will be tolerant with the parts of one another that are challenging and patient as we learn to embrace them.
Together we will plant seeds and sing songs.

Well, don't wanna make a big fuss or anything but I am now a married woman. Don't feel terribly different really. The process of becoming married was beautiful and special and does require words more meaningful than I have the time to write at this moment. In fact I am off tonight to go celebrate my marriage again. This is celebration number three. Cool right? Different facets of our worlds who want to honor us. Geez how incredibly lucky are we?

Give thanks.

Reuniting the Masses

And so it begins. The request has been dispersed for family and friends to join Pete and me on Orcas Island in September.

These invites took some time. I folded them from old National Geographic magazine pages. Lace helped a bit, but besides that I did them largely on my own. I loved folding them. Most of them were done watching August Rush and Darjeeling Limited (both really good movies) and flying to and from Tara's wedding in FL listening to Oprah and Eckhart talk about living a life that goes beyond our over-caffeinated minds. It was the best use of time in the sky ever.

The envelope folding was Zen. The print carving was super fun too. I messed up the first one but the second came out perfecto.

So now we wait until September for the gathering of the peeps. 

Just back from Jason and Nesreen's wedding on Sanibel Island. My oh my...sun, sand, mojitos, late nights with old friends, dolphins swimming near us as we lingered in the perfect temperature Gulf of Mexico. It has been probably 20 years since I visited this island and I look forward to returning soon.

So many highlights and I haven't the creativity at the moment to do them justice. The picture of Eva Luna Cohen, the daughter of my beautiful friends, Susie and Sean tells the tale well I think. Smiles and warm, melty chocolate. Nourishment, nurturing, indulging...a lot. So many friends I miss that live scattered around this country and others. 

Some of them have little ones and I am sad to not be a regular part of their lives. To see them grow and take first steps and learn new words. Sydney said 'bubbles' this weekend and 'yellow'.

Eva Luna (chocoface) told me a story about running and jumping into a pile of clothes she had just inherited from a bigger girl friend who outgrew them. She told me she squealed while she jumped and demonstrated the squeal. Priceless. She danced with us for hours to the movin' rhythm of the salsa and reggae beats. Amazing little expressive people they are becoming. 

I miss my friends that are scattered. There are those that come in and out of your life and you think of them on occasion. But some come in and stay, no matter where they are. Some you think of often, even if you don't speak often.

I've always hoped my wedding would be a time to reunite my masses...my people...my sweet and important roots.

The people that helped me be who I am.

Some will make it, some won't. I am from all of them.

Round Rooms

Once i followed a man to an island.
He found us a round room to live in
surrounded by potatoes, rasberries and greens,
twin blonde horse beauties on a diet,
and a long steep dirt drive.

In the beginning it was wet.
Awefully wet for summer. And cool.
And the stove, meant to keep us warm, filled the round room with smoke and paraffin fumes when we used it.

One day I burned a fire until all the paraffin was off the stove.
I sat outside and played guitar
imagining the purification of that round room.

My lungs slowly started feeling better.

We dug up a patch of grass and planted stuff.
Built a fence with sticks to keep the dogs and deer out.
It didn't work too well.
The deer laughed at it.
The dogs didn't even see it.

We pooped in a bucket that sat under a bench and toilet seat.
My favorite part was the ceremonial spreading of cedar sawdust over the poo.
That was neat.
My least favorite part was the dumping of the bucket when it got full into the compost heap.
That was scary.

Pete did it most of the time. He's sweet.

My days consisted of guitar, walks, swimming, dog play and meeting the folks that lived on Tap Root Farm past the garden. Lu Lu, Sarah, Andrea, Thomas, Jen and Anne, Makala, Nathan.

Then I got cabin fever.

It took a month of nothing I "had" to do before it came on.

It was weird because there I was in a beautiful place with a beautiful man and gradually I went from feeling beautiful and free to feeling quite ugly.
Angry. Obsessive. Understimulated. Frustrated. Suffocated. Those are other things I felt at times.

So I got myself some work.
Three jobs actually.
I cleaned some houses
and washed some dishes
and waited some tables.

It helped. I like people.

We learned some guitar and banjo duets. That was cool.

I did learn that I can't be someone's everything.
It starts to get hard to breathe.
I start to feel the walls moving in.
I know the feeling well.

Vescica Pisces.
The vessel of the fish.
The place where two separates intermingle,
a symbol representing sacred marriage.

Ahhh, yes, the marriage, rather than the merging of opposites.

The struggle to not lose one's self, but retain individuality.
Retain personal power and gifts.

Ahhh, the reward for finding balance in this way.

Beauty, creativity, and grace
flow from this union because
of these differences.

Round rooms are nice and circles can bring strong lessons.
Its remembering those lessons that can be the callenge.

V'im lo ach-shav ay matay
(If not now, when.)

At-One-Ment

Crap. I missed Yom Kippor. The one day of the year when I fully embrace my jewish roots with fasting and reflectiion for 24 hours.

Usually, I head to a forest with a river or lake and I spend the day walking, writing, listening and being intentional about what I want my next year to hold.

Yom Kippor, or the Day of Atonement is my favorite Jewish holiday. I find it incredibly helpful to take a day to myself in order to reflect on my past year and thoughtfully create the next one. There's no food in my gut to weigh me down.

Anyway, food is not what you are supposed to think about on this day (hard as it may be when your belly growls and mind gets spacey).

Moments by the water are most powerful for me. This usually comes later in the day, after I have pin-pointed the things in my life I would like to change...or what aspects of my self are no longer helping me and my chosen path.

Water is incredibly cleansing and transformative so I ask to the river to take them away. River stones work beautifully for holding and asking for transference of old emotions or patterns that no longer suite me.

Spending the day in Synagouge never suited me. My temple is the forest, the river, the trees, the sky. That is where I connect to G-d. That is where I feel most fully grounded and most fully my self. In my temple, I can not pretend. It is impossible. I have tried, believe me. Looking back on times when I tried to convince myself that everything was fine, when it wasn't; that we loved each other and it would work out, when it couldn't; that the path I was on was right for me, when it wasn't. When I am in my temple, the truth always wins.

The one and only thing I miss about the traditional day spent in synagouge is the sound of the shofar. It is a truely soul shaking sound, and it is repeated numerous times throughout the service.

This brings me to WHY I missed Yom KIppor. My father came into town for the weekend. That needed to be prioritized.

Luckily this practice is something that can be done on a different day, but Tommy in town is less flexible.

If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
But if I am for myself alone, what am I?
And, really, if not now, when?

Here is to At-One-Ment.

Ayer y Hoy

A Beautiful day yesterday in Grado at the beach...truly stone-cold chillin'.

Not the most beautiful beach I've ever been to (that was hands down north of San Juan del Sur on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua at an ecotourist lodge...cliffs, sand and colorful rocks; water you could look at and be in for hours) but a much needed day in the sand and sun.

The beach was followed by getting lost in the car on our way back to a brown risotto with clams, stir-fried eggplant and peppers, ensalada and two kinds of cheese that are local Friulini cheeses.





All of this with the fabulous Ilivio that we have bought three bottles of as it is not available in the states. Ilivio turned into sipping different types of Amaro (bitters) and another Felluga that sounds like its named after a Rabbi, Rosenplatz. A bottle of a beautiful lambrusco was then topped with an 11 year old burghandy that Matteo offered out so we could taste some aged wine.


Ay-yuy-yuy. I slept hard last night.



Today we go the mountains for the night. We've only been seeing them from a distance. More on that to come. More on everything to come.


The morning was spent strolling through Udine visiting the market, and stopping at 12:30pm for an apperitif of wine and bread/cheese/meat (hell if I don't go home 5 pounds heavier). This is what made me smile. Every table had wine on it. Matteo said they'll have some wine and then head home for lunch. What a social, sassy and styley place this was!!! Next came the gelato.Wow.

Mi Coneto con il mio Leone

Matteo, my Leo friend. Its fun to see him again and be in his world of little Italy. I say little because I havn't seen anything big yet. Small towns, small vineyards (people's yards, really), short hours for any business, small and fabulous and warm colored.

These pics are from a strolling adventure me and Lace took today. Our plan was to bike, but after too much time trying to fill a tire and move a seat lower for my little legs, we just walked. Threw some beautiful, moldy cheese, olives, cherry tomatoes and carrots in a container, grabbed a bottle of Susso...a red made by Livio Felluga (where Matteo works), and a glass jar from the recycling box to drink it with. Alas, we were on our way out into Italy.

Strolling on small streets with expansive views of fields of corn, wine grapes and cute houses with clay tile roofs we looked, chatted and smiled. Yee haw. Hello Italy.
Ciao. Took a turn up what looked like a park or trail system. Couldn't really read the sign, but it had the feel of an interpretive sign you'd see at the entrance to a park, so we headed up. At least there wasn't a no tresspassing sign which I've come to recognize.

Corn, love, goats, and ideas sprinkled into the corn as we walked by like dust that lifts as we walk. Every step we take, every day of our lives moves some dust into the air that was previously stagnant. We are energetic beings and as we move dust and settled molecules, it sets other things in motion. Movement begins.

And never ends. Every time we move: follow a whim, move a few extra steps to smell a flower or touch a stone we create change however small you see it. It moves and keeps moving.

Every choice, every deep breath, every arms-lifted stretch of your spine creates change. Even thought is movement. "If thoughts can do that to water, imagine what they do to us". Masaru Emoto's studies of human thought on water molecules is outstanding. Check it out here if you haven't heard.

On our way back we stopped at a "bar". They didn't have much but Lace wanted an espresso. So I joined her (this travel is all about indulgance). I also got some wafer with chocolate-hazelnut filler that was delightfully dipped in the holy-strong-and-bitter-espresso, or as Matteo told us later, its just known as a cafe around here.

Moments filled with cameras, food, drink and relaxing today. What will tomorrow bring. I am going to drive in Italy. Scary. These folks drive like new Yorkers but crazier. We're going to visit Matteo's vineyard tomorrow and tag along while he does a tour and tasting with some foreigners.

Me, Yo, Self, I, Reflection

I kind of like the self-portrait challenge I've seen on some friends' blogs. I'm not entirely sure what its all about but...I like it. Maybe its the leo in me. I like me. I like to see me and I like to think about me and what I have done and what I will do and what I can do to make me a better me. It sounds selfish...maybe. Maybe. Its art though and its moments caught that noone can know but me.

There are stories behind the photo: the photographer, the background sounds, smells, and feelings. I like looking and remembering, tasting, smelling and feeling the moments. Was I happy? Healthy? Busy? Relaxed? Sad? ? In love? Out of sorts? In my body? I Like the idea of posting a picture and writing about some aspect of that picture. I like challenges. I like being asked to think and go inside and share. The vulnerability is scary, but what the hey...



Orcas Island August 2005:

With every slam into the earth a bit of my anger was absorbed by her. What the heck was I so angry about? Mad at Pete, or so I thought. Slam! He's so.... Slam! Why does he... Slam! I hate when he... Slam! What was it? Was I being sensitive? Over analytical? Stubborn? Can't remember exactly. I was mad and hurt by something he hadn't a clue he did.

I loved cutting into that grass, imagining the rocks that would sit in the hole I was digging. They would be very hot rocks...carried from a big, erratic flame by a piece of metal and dropped into the pit I was creating.

They would burn the soil when placed there.

There would be a smell that would only be familiar in ancestral parts of the brain and the rocks would sit there red and sizzling and waiting.

That was me. Red, hot, angry...waiting for something. Then the moment would come when a group of people would surround the rocks, naked, with intention. Intention for cleansing, healing, challenge, pain, renewal, newness...a feeling of comfort with the naked bodies and spirits around them. Monumental. Unforgettable. Life changing. Perspective offering. Sweat.
Somehow the act of creating the sweat--structure and vessel--gave me the perspective I needed to stop being angry. To put the tool down and walk over to the man I love and say, from the depths of my heart, "hey...lets talk, I am feeling hurt".
The conversation did happen, on a huge trampoline. But thats another story.

A Gardenlicious Dinner for Four

Can you see the love that went into these beauties? It is an incredibly rewarding feeling to put hours and hours of time, sweat, thought, care, money, and soul into creating a garden and eventually taste the fruit of your labor. Charlie and Emily were going to come over after a visit to Hurricane Ridge on a beautiful August day.
With this in mind I, excitedly grabbed Finny and entered my crazy overgrown garden of gratitude. First, I entered the forest of the tomatoes. The Sungolds have been feeding us sweet goodness for a while now, but the heirlooms are just beginning to ripen. I nervously harvest our very first one! Wasn't sure how to tell when they are completely ripe. Ah, but isn't it a beauty!
When I wandered over to the two fading potato plants, I made a big decision: we needed potatoes to go with dinner and its time to dig in to the earth and see what these odd plants have done. And then I wondered about the many ways I could prepare them. In my creative state, picturing, tasting, imagining how they would taste best, my eyes caught the basil glistening in the sun...PESTO!!! I had just made some the night before...perfect. This particular kind of harvest was a new experience for me. I carefully loosened up the soil with a hoe, hoping that I wouldn't damage the starchy, purple, swollen root balls. The absolute best part was diving in, hands first into the sea of soil and curiously swimming through it wondering what I would find. I really didn't know. There could have been a couple of golf ball sized taters or bigger. With no expectections I swam, I sifted, I moved the earth, seeking its kind creations. And a proud mama I was indeed! And the meal was perrrrrrrrfect!

Sunflowers in the Midst of a Sun Starved Summer

This summer has been challenging. The challenge exists in a number of forms.

One is that I worked hard. And by hard I don't mean I worked my muscles and bones and sweat hard. Working hard, in this case, meant running around making sure everything was in order and stayed in order so that families and kids were happy with the programming we were providing. I coordinated the hell out of summer programs. I rocked those summer programs and now I feel worked. Working hard meant playing less though. Weekends were far and few between and when they came, they seemed to leave again far too soon. And now we are here in August, almost the end, and finally, finally things are slowing down.

A second challenge was the weather this summer. We are having an unusually cool, wet summer here in the Northwest. I know it's not true for all Northwesterners, but many of us NEED the warm, dry days of summer to finally get the cool damp out of our bones and help us feel alive and healthy. The balance of the seasons here is part of what I love about it. Cool, damp, green winters give way to warm, dry and still-green-with-speckles-of-a-zillion-flower-colors summers. What will I do if the warm days dont come and bathe us throughout September?


I will go to Italy and France.

I bought myself a huge birthday present with some birthday gift money, and other money I simply don't have, but will have to manifest for this special gift to ME. Warm Italy calls my name in such a big way I can hardly stand the wait...ten days from today I fly out to Paris. Hope to grab Lacey and head south to Italy to see Matteo and hop around Italy. Time will tell how that adventure unfolds.

I live for a thousand reasons but most vividly, these days: my garden and Mr. Finno (and P,J&T of course). That's Huckberry Finn, the sweet super feline who Jedi has fallen in love with and Tallis is still deciding how she feels about. Here is a glimpse of the sweetness that melts my heart when this kitten and dog play.



The heirloom tomatoes in our garden are beginning to show some red and purple hues to their skin. A sign of the deliciousness that will come. Shit, I hope I am not away for their ripening. The sungolds are so wild they are knocking over my homemade support network. Little green moons everywhere that sleep in a green bed by night and turn into bursts of orange and yellow when the sun peeks its pretty face.

A real deal compost palace. Pete wants to name it Cedargrove...I told him someone already claimed that name, but he didn't care. Thing is, its literally in a cedar grove. The picture is Pete's desire that it look like the old logging pics where the people look serious about their tools and their work. The only thing I am serious about is composting a shit-ton so we can feed our garden with it next season.

Okay I am also serious about other things like wanting to begin work on our house and having a baby in the next few years and living abroad and eating healthy food and living somewhere I can afford and being less stubborn in disagreements with my sweetie and believing and trusting and accepting and loving and being wild and being silly and being creative. I am serious. If I am serious and I will it and I trust it and believe it, anything can be.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

We'd like to introduce the newest addition to our lovely home, Mister Huckleberry Finn. He is 12 weeks old and a purring machine. Finn entered my world at the PAWS adoption center here on Bainbridge Island. I wasn't really looking for him. I was looking for a trap to get the last feral kitten out of Islandwood and into a safe home. I was talking to the woman about how to get the little rascal that kept getting away from us and oh, wait, who is THAT cute muffin-head? That was it. Pretty much sealed the deal. Pete didn't require any convincing. His response was: okay, I'll meet you at PAWS at 5pm tomorrow to meet the little bugger. In fact its quite hard to type as he is on my left shoulder purring in my ear.

He's here for many reasons. One, I love cats and haven't had one since I left home at 18. Two, my body and spirit wants babies, but we aren't ready yet. Finn will be our baby for a while. Pete wants another male in the house. Cats are fun. I guess that about sums it up.

What else is a happenin? Pete got a new job in the big city. Sounds amazing. We'll see. The garden is fully fabulous. We munch from it alot and can't wait for the tomatoes. Big and fun plans arising for the house. Summer programs are nuts at IslandWood and I have working my booty off. We set a date for our wedding August 30th 2008. It's gonna rock. Pez.

Enjoying the Fruit of Our Labor

Okay world, he is back. Final project is done and Pete is now officially a graduate of a Masters in Urban Planning program. He is slowly realizing and integrating his freedom. Why, just yesterday I watched him dancing naked in the backyard with a rooster mask on howling at the moon.

Well, maybe not, but the change is dramatic for both of us and we are enjoying life in our peaceful home.

Here is the BIG BIG news though. We just harvested our first tastes from our garden. There I was building this trellis for the sweet peas and low and behold I spy 3 peas. Only one was ripe for the chowing so...Ohhhhhhhhhh....peas.........Yum!! Oh yeah! Wow, and strawberries. Two were perfect for tasting. They are amazing. Just little younguns and producing sweet berries.Pete is really in bliss right now. Enjoying all his senses. Enjoying being outside away from his dreadful computer. Tasting our baby arugula.






Again. Wow. All of it tastes amazing. I am so very excited to enjoy the nibbles and meals this lovely garden will bring. Just planted some onions, so we'll see how those come up.
Finally my very own little piece of land to grow food on. Next year, chickens for sure.

The Man I Love and His Upcoming Release From Prison

What is this guy doing??? Taking a crap? Peering at something in the water? Pooping his pants? What does all this have to do with prison?

Well, this is Pete. The man I love. The man I will marry and raise children with. He is a total....goofball. This is a picture of why I love Pete. He makes me giggle. He lightens my moods. He sees birds feeding on the shore and runs over to imitate them (too bad I didn't get the bird in the shot). He is a ray of sunshine. Purely good intentions lead him through his days and his interactions. I am a blessed woman...a damn lucky woman. And even more wonderful is that by the end of this week he will be back in my loving arms and free from prison.

Okay, okay, so he hasn't actually been in prison, behind bars etc. An though he has been in my loving arms, he hasn't beenable to truly be there. He has had a heavy, pending project looming over his shoulders for over a year now. He has been waking before 6 a.m. to work at his computer for a few hours before gulping down breakfast and throwing on a nice shirt to get to work by 8:30a.m. Then comes his lunch hour. A quick drive to the library gives him one hour of quiet work time, only to rush back to work, no lunch in belly, no break having been had, and jump back in to reviewing permit applications and meeting with desperate parties. When 5:30 p.m. rolls around he is wiped. Some days he can manage to get some more work done before bed, but most days he comes home barely able to talk let alone do any of the many things that nuture his spirit (banjo, juggling, dog play).

So, this has gone on at varying degrees of intensity for months and months. The project, his final project for his Master's degree in Urban Planning, has been hovering for over a year. This is the prison that he is about to be free from. Tomorrow he meets with his advisor and hopefully gets a signature. Then he takes the 300 page document to be bound. And then, he will get back on the ferry towards Bainbridge Island. He will most likely have a beer and watch the water as the giant vessel glides over it feeling the wind on his face. He will feel a weight lifted and see the prison bars in front of him dissolve into the air. The walls also become thinner and thinner the closer he gets to the island. The salty air filling his lungs will soothe his tired soul. He will arrive to Bainbridge and drive home. He will lay on the floor and get attacked with kisses from our dogs. I will nourish him with a yummy meal and some after dinner loving. And then he will sleep. In his sleep his body will begin to understand that he can truly relax again; that he doesn't have to think about this project anymore. The added stress of his job dissolves as well. No thoughts, only rest.

And I will kiss his sweet face while he sleeps. He has been amazing through all of this. He is truly a warrior. A brave, strong, courageous, warrior. If it were me in his shoes, sitting inside all weekend, every weekend for months, while the sun shone bright and warm outside and my lover built a garden, it would have left me a depressed blob. He's an angel and I am incredibly proud of him. His work ethics and resilience are outstanding. Go Pete. Glad we won't have to have anymore conjugal visits. I await the real and whole man back in my arms.

The Women who Raised me

I was raised by two Leos and a Scorpio. They are beautiful women who have taught me who I am and who I am not. I love the picture below. It shows a bit of how much I am loved by that crew. Leta, Beth and Irma surround me with a striking amount of respect and pride.