Standing O for our little blueberry bush

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Standing O for our little blueberry bush from whom I have harvested two quarts of organic blueberries in just the past couple of days. Now, I am enjoying part of that bounty with some greek yogurt and toasted walnuts, which makes for a tasty breakfast. We have never fertilized that little bush, nor have we ever sprayed her with anything. Each year, we just thank her for the wonderful berries, keep her watered, and leave her alone to do her duty – and, she does, to a tremendous degree.

Being grateful and enjoying something delicious is a nice way to start the day. Enjoy. JS

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Chores

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Got the watering done in back – well, almost all of it. Went to the Post Office, COSTCO, the car wash, the Overturned Grocery Cart (it’s called Grocery Outlet but we call it the Overturned Grocery Cart because we never know exactly what they’ll have or what will be spilling out of that joint, but it’s close and pretty cheap, mostly, and the clientele is sometimes interesting.) Anyway, it’s all part of the THINGS I GOTTA DO WHEN I GET HOME ROUTINE and it takes lots of time to get it all done. It’s a gorgeous day here, though, nice and sunny and not hot, maybe in the mid-70’s, which is pretty nice for summer, I must say. JS

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Unpacking

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Home now. Exhausted. Stef has gone to Canada for her brother’s memorial service up in Squamish, B.C. Traffic was really, REALLY thick and slow getting out of Portland today although I never saw any wrecks or what was causing the delay. The sun was shining, though, and it was a gorgeous day.

I am all unpacked now and that feels good. I used to dread doing that and usually left my suitcase out in the middle of the bedroom floor where I would step over it, in it, and trip over it for a week before I got it all emptied. Then, I read a little book called HOW TO BE YOUR OWN BEST FRIEND. It spoke of going ahead and doing the things you’ve been putting off because the feeling of accomplishment is so much greater than the momentary sense of relief you feel by NOT doing whatever it was that you’d been putting off – again and again. The author was right, too, and that’s when I began unpacking that giant suitcase as soon as I get home each time. As tired as I often am, it just makes me feel better to have it done and not have to think about it again.

So…going to bed soon. Tomorrow will be here quickly. JS

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Piranha-infested waters

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Wow, there’s a real fight going on over the Red Hen Restaurant expulsion of Sarah Sanders. I don’t know what FB page it was on, but, if it shows up and you make a comment, just know that it’s rather like chunking a pot roast into piranha-infested waters. (I’m pretty sure I misspelled that one.) Anyway, be careful. You might lose a hand or an eye. Right-wingers have definitely gotten their knickers in a twist over this one. It appears that the “…strongly-held beliefs...” of the owner of this restaurant don’t count as much as the “…strongly-held beliefs…” of the baker who didn’t want to bake a wedding cake for a gay couple, not to the conservative crowd, anyway.

Personally, I think any business has the right to have the customers they want. Usually, this weeds itself out. If I had gone to a baker who didn’t want to bake a cake for me, I’d just go spend my money someplace else, but that’s just me. People can choose to run their businesses however they want, in my opinion. Giving Sarah Sanders the boot from the Red Hen Restaurant was the owner’s choice and now customers will choose to support her business or not. I don’t think she’s a horrible person for having made the choice she did; I think she was following her own convictions and that is an honorable thing. Oddly enough, I feel the same way about the baker in Colorado. There are plenty of bakers who’d LOVE to bake your cake – go to them.

On very rare occasions over the past 38 years, I have had to send clients on to other practitioners, or just send them away from me and hope for the best for everyone. The reasons have varied but, most often, it has boiled down to the fact that this person and I just didn’t like each other and needed to be away from each other. I am okay with that, and it has NEVER been over politics, either, just in case you are wondering.

I rolf in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Chances are, 80% of the people who lie down on my rolfing table are more conservative than I’ll ever be, so, I have to figure out something else about them to love. And, I do. I am also smart enough to know when someone is trying to bait me into a political discussion or some sort of verbal volleyball match and I just won’t play the game because it will be of no good purpose. We will only wind up mad at or frustrated with each other, which really defeats the purpose of our work together, and I’d rather honor the work I am blessed to do than win a political argument. In the long run, that’s way more fulfilling.

Well, it’s time to start the day, and I’d rather do that by thinking about someone other than Sarah Huckabee Sanders, whose left eyebrow is probably stuck to the back of her head by now. JS

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The suitcase I lug across country is heavy

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The suitcase I lug across the country and back every 4 to 6 weeks is bulky and heavy. This past week, as my buddy Catherine was throwing that big thing into the back of her car to take me to the airport, she said, “I think this thing is heavier this time.” It wasn’t; actually, it only weighed 39 lbs. this time. Usually, it’s 42. One time, years ago, when I was checking in, I put my bag up on the scale at the ticket counter. I said to the woman, “I don’t know why I’m doing this – it always weighs 42 pounds. It doesn’t matter what I put in it or take out of it, it always weighs 42 pounds.” She said, “Well, let’s just check,” and we put it onto the scale. It weighed 41 pounds. We stared at each other. Finally, she said, “So, what did you forget?” And, I must say, it was plenty to fret about for the next 3-plus hours as I flew to Dallas.

I tend to pack for all the things that might happen, as well as for those that probably won’t, although, at this time of year in Dallas and Tulsa, chances are I won’t need my boots or a turtleneck anything of any sort. I will, however, need some sort of mosquito repellent, since I just noticed that itchy thing I’ve been clawing at on my leg is a mosquito bite. Clearly, the mosquitoes did not read the same thing I read on the internet about how much they hate vitamin B-1.

So, I don’t know what I forgot this time that weighs 3 pounds and haven’t spent any time going, “Damn! where’s my proton weapon? I ALWAYS pack that thing,,,” And, since I can’t find whatever it is that I’m missing, the only logical conclusion is that it was my cares & woes. Lucky me. JS

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“CARRY ON, McDUFF!”

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My friends, Kay & Stephen, at whose home I rolf when I am here in Tulsa, have been hiking in the mountains of Colorado for the past couple of weeks. Stephen has been posting videos of their adventure from time to time and I have enjoyed seeing them, especially the one from yesterday.

Stephen and Kay have what you might call different styles of hiking. Stephen is the Master of the Saunter and he stops to photograph, or, just admire, the scenery surrounding them. For Kay, hiking is more like a Marine Corps forced march and she blasts forward, charging full-out up that trail, like she’s delivering a satchel for the Pony Express, or she’s got a pocketful of plutonium she’s got to unload before it burns her leg off. From the video Stephen posted yesterday, what we see is the back side of Kay 50 yards ahead and we hear him muttering about the beauty of the mountains and the spectacular view of the canyon below. Occasionally, Kay looks back over her shoulder to make sure Stephen is still there, that he hasn’t been clawed and chewed up by a bear, nor has he slipped off into the canyon and river below. Whenever she looks back to check on him, we hear Stephen, in that wonderful British accent of his, shout out, “CARRY ON, McDUFF!” It is comforting to me in an odd way. I am not entirely positive of just what that means, but I assume it’s from a movie or book I’ve not seen or read. Still, I understand it and it makes me smile.

I appreciate it so much because it reminds me that two people can approach something in different ways, with their own unique styles, but that those styles can still be tolerated – even celebrated – when they know they share a great love, and, these two do, which also makes me smile.

They will be home in Tulsa late tonight. I hope I am still awake when they come in the door so I can welcome them home and so I can say, “CARRY ON, McDUFF!” It will be good to see them. JS

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babies being held as “detainees” by our government along the Texas border

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It was a balmy 82 degrees last night when my plane landed in Tulsa, and the high yesterday had only been 86 which, you gotta admit, is pretty decent for summer in Oklahoma. I enjoy being surprised in this way at this time of year in this part of the nation. Texas, where I grew up, and Oklahoma, where I have spent a lot of time, are both notorious for getting a running start on summer beginning in late April or early May and not letting up until the end of September, where sticking your head out the window feels like you’ve just stuck your head into a dryer full of still-damp Levis.

The air seems to disappear during this time. For years, in Dallas, I was sure Texas sold all its air to another state and the humidity and heat created its own particular miasma, rather like a wet diaper, and just about as pleasant. Ugh.

I once shared a motel room in Houston in July with far too many people, all of us there to watch a softball tournament. I wound up sleeping on the floor and awoke in the middle of the night unable to breathe. OH, I thought, OH, MY HEAVENS, THEY’VE BREATHED UP ALL THE AIR – THERE IS NO AIR IN HERE! I rolled over onto my belly and commandoed myself over to the door in the darkness, sliding my hand up to the door handle, anticipating oxygen and cool night air and relief of some sort. I cracked the door open enough to stick my big head outside and was instantly stung above my eyebrows by 3 mosquitoes who figured they’d just arrived at a late-night drive-thru, PLUS, there was no air outside, either! I pushed myself back into the room and lay on my belly, panting into the musty carpet and thinking, as I often do, I’M SCREWED. Eventually, I resigned myself to my fate, and, waiting to die, fell asleep. In the morning, I was still alive, still sweaty, still panting, but more determined than ever to find out just who was sucking all of the air out of my state through some giant pneumatic tube hidden somewhere.

I searched for years, upending every suspicious-looking rock I ran across, ready to shout – AHAAAAA! and blow the whistle on somebody for this offense. I never did find out. I moved away to Oregon instead where the summers are not as long and not nearly as intense. There might be some hot days but it always cools off at night in the Pacific Northwest and I like being able to sleep with the windows open, yes, even when skunks come up in the yard late at night to dig for grubs in the lawn. I savor the sounds of the night I can hear at certain times of the year, like the bullfrog who shows up in the pool in the spring, croaking madly for a potential girlfriend. And, of course, what’s a lovely morning in Oregon without the sounds of a hundred birds right outside? Just think of it – all of that beauty and wonder because I get to leave the windows open. What could be better than that?

All of this focus, by me, on the weather, of course, has me thinking about the young children and babies being held as “detainees” by our government along the Texas border in the broiling heat. FOX news right-winger, Laura Ingraham, tried to spin it all as their being at “summer camp” in describing these children and babies who were taken from their parents by people operating under direct orders from the Trump administration. So, Laura, here’s the deal: I challenge you to go and spend a week with these kids in 100 degree heat, in tents and cages, and then tell me if it still feels like they’re at “summer camp.” Because, I tell you what, Ms. Ingraham: UNLESS ALL THOSE CHILDREN MAKE IT BACK TO THEIR FAMILIES – SAFE, SANE AND UNHARMED – KNOWING HOW TO PADDLE A CANOE AND TIE NAUTICAL KNOTS, I’M CALLING BULLSHIT ON YOU AND YOUR STUPID COMMENT. IF YOU DON’T HAVE A HEART, DON’T REMIND US. Ugh. JS

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Every Hug

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What if, at the moment we leave this life, we get to feel every hug we have ever given, ever received? What if we get to hear every laugh that has made us laugh out loud, too? What if, rather than seeing our own silly little life flash before our eyes, we get to see every majestic sunset, each dazzling, heart-stopping sunrise, every gathering of birds, every ocean’s surf blasting and foaming against the rocks, every salmon leaping in a silvery arc out of a quiet river in the mist of early morning? What if we get to hear the joyful secret of every baby’s first laugh? What if we get to witness a tiny bee’s exploration of the most luscious flower? What if we get to see the faces of people who’ve heard our stories over and over and still laughed anyway? What if we get to watch all the dogs we have ever adored, their hearts full of mischief and love, running full-out and strong on the beach? What if we get to smell, once more, the inside of a barn, run our hands across the smooth, worn leather of a saddle, and see a new mama horse nuzzling her foal? What if all of our senses are suddenly bombarded with all of those sights and smells and sounds and feelings, those things and moments which have made our breath catch in our throats, the ones that brought us to tears and to joy all at once – what if?

If all those things are true, if all those things happen to us with our final breath, it really might not be a bad way to go. What if, suddenly, right at the end of it all, we realize with such clarity that the whole thing has been so exquisite, just so perfect in all of its joy and angst and wonder and glory, that the very last thing slipping out in a whisper from our lips is the the only thing left to say, the greatest prayer of all: THANK YOU. That’s what I’m thinking. JS Continue reading

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