La Luna

Biladeau Rd, Bend Oregon

Written early April.

MOONBEAMS SHINE THROUGH the window resting on my face. La Luna woke me. Without my glasses she looks large, soft, and a bit fuzzy around the edges. Her silver light fills the tiny bedroom reflecting off dust mites, floating in the air. It feels magical. Dave's arm drapes across my body, his shallow breathing quiet for now. I lay still, afraid to break the spell. Fuzzy Four Paws joins us, it must be close to 5 am. "BREAKFAST NOW!", he purrs in my ear, treading over my head and onto Dave's torso, to the window and back to me again. Each heavy step leaves a new bruise. The clock reads 4:45 am, no chance returning to a dreamy slumber. I am wide awake. Getting out of bed the sheets shift inviting the chill of the morning under the covers. Dave turns away from me, mumbles something and burrows deeper for warmth.

The trailer is cold, out the window the blues of predawn mingle with Luna's silver shimmers. It has snowed in the night leaving a shifting of powdered sugar on the ground and sage bushes. Jack Frost has followed us, not content to leave us be. More cold weather... will it ever be warm? Sackett has shadowed me into the kitchen, rubbing figure 8's between my legs and the cupboard, where his food is kept. One wonders if he is really a giant tapeworm in disguise. once fed he's content for awhile. I make myself a cup of tea and sit down to write, only my mind is drawn back to the moon and her mystery.

Soon She will be full, her pull stronger, her ascendancy dominant over us. Our moods change when her face is well rounded, our rhythms rise and fall like tides in the Spring. She tells us when to plant and when to harvest, She moves us to love and to grieve. The Moon is alive and always changing, a beautiful woman cursed to only be seen between dusk and dawn. Somehow there is comfort knowing that she is above, watching over me while I sleep. The mug is warm in my hands. As I sip the green tea sweetened with honey its steam rises clouding my glasses like the cold air against the window. I hear the whoosh of propane, a promising sound of a warm room on the way.

IT IS HARD to believe sometimes that I am 43. I remember turning 30 and thinking back on all I had done up to that point and wishing, on the the candles of a coffin cake, that my next thirty years would be as exciting and full. The phases of the moon bring to mind the changes I have gone through. Gaining fifteen pounds and establishing the ability to "Flame On" have been a personal challenge for me on this trip. During the winter in Grand Junction Colorado my newly adapted mutation came in handy on those below zero nights. While I was shedding sheets Dave was cuddling closer... "Who needs an electric blanket Honey, when I've got you". Placing my hand against the trailer paneling was all I needed to cool down before retrieving blankets from the hibernating bear beside me. It is strange to be placing myself into this new category of WOMAN. It is like being 10 years old and thinking 25 years is a long way off. Before you know it BANG your there. Now it's like a tsunami, wondering when the next wave will hit. In the meantime I continue to eat my vegges, take my multivitamin, and drink my soy... oh and now we're back in Bend, walk the Butte. Soon the warm weather will be here, Bob the weatherman reports this, so it must be true, and with that comes more outdoor exercise; biking, hiking, letterboxing. Old muscles finding new uses and the smell of sports cream, the downing of Aleve, a happy hypothalamus and hopefully the shedding of a few pounds.

I feel very settled. Not stuck in a rut, complaisant settled, but more comfortable in my own skin settled. I'm becoming more flexible, definitely not physically bendable, that comes with stretching. If I were to chose between the Tortoise or the Hare I would say today I a m the Tortoise. Go at my own speed, enjoy things around me, taking life as it comes while still being willing to meet the challenges at hand. Sometimes it works and at other times it doesn't. I have discovered approaching life with humor and a little Hakuna Matata is really the best medicine for me. Especially since I don't anticipate a call from the X-Men anytime soon ("Flame On!"). Life, I am finding out is a process that is constantly evolving. That's the exciting part- THE ADVENTURE! Getting up and not knowing what the day will bring... "Where does the trail lead today?"

One night I got back to the trailer close to midnight. As I pulled into the driveway off Biladeau Road the song "Sweet Home Alabama" started playing on the radio. I left the car running and laid down on the hood of the Subaru, starring up at the stars. It was chilly and even a bit windy, but so nice out. I watched a satellite tumble across the night sky, while the music played in the background. I played dot-to-dot as I pieced together star clusters, drawing constellations I knew, with my finger. Another day I hiked up Pilot Butte and saw a Rosey Boa. Normally snakes make me shudder and squeal. This viewing I did neither. Instead I just stood and watched it as it made its way across the trail and under a rock near a juniper tree. I wondered at the time if he was an indication of warmer weather to come. I am enjoying these changes. Seeing life at a different angle. It is like being in a special effect where I'm moving at normal speed and everyone around me is in slow motion, giving me the opportunity to notice all the details and take my time doing it.

EACH NIGHT THERE is a new face on La Luna, as she phases through her stages, some darker than others. Sometimes life is like that, but finding goodness and staying optimistic enriches and keeps me happy. Full Moons are bright and enchanting, lighting up areas that are often missed in the darkness of night. A Dark, or New Moon, exposes secrets of the universe. Stars shine brighter and more plentiful, meteorites showers fall more brilliantly, and I swear I see more satellites and space junk orbiting the Earth. One face enhances the terrestrial and the other brings to life the celestial. I could view my new phase of womanhood as a pain, an inconvenience, a disruption, OR I embrace it and realize the power of possibilities it introduces.

Hope you are all enjoying the start to your summer.

All our best from Us to You

Vanessa

There's No Place Like Home!

Bend, Oregon

Originally written April 3, 2010

Blonde is stuck in my head and I can't get her out. You know when you get a tune stuck in your brain and you can't seem to rid yourself of it, no matter how hard you try? Well after dropping Dave off at work I turned on the radio and Blonde was playing... what does it mean?

Dave and I are finally home! We left Grand Junction on a Tuesday and pulled into Bend around 8 pm the following Thursday evening. No blown tires. No truck episodes. There were a couple of tall peaks (7800 feet elevation) in Utah and Nevada, but that was all on the first day of driving. The truck ran an average of 44 mph. She doesn't like the peaks and down hill was fun for her, much like a roller coaster. Tuesday night we parked at a truck stop in Ely Nevada, and Wednesday we rested our heads under the halogens of Winnemucca's Wal-mart. We had a good trip stopping along the way for a letterbox or two, food and fuel, and a pee.

There is so much open land out there. Land not fenced, or built on. Land flat, curved, and pointy. Sometimes we'd drive hours without seeing anyone and at other times there would be one car after another. I remember driving through the desert, in Western Utah, and thinking how much it reminds me of Alfalfa, Oregon. The iron enriched soil, the color of a summer sunset, dotted with dwarf junipers and sage brush. Tucked into the surrounding plateaus were small mining outposts, skeletal remains of a time long gone. Their only inhabitants a few jack rabbits and lizards, with the occasional snake curled up in a mud cracked wall. The sounds of the whispering wind swirling through open rafters is the only voice heard. It's a bit eery, a lot of

untamed territory, and absolutely breath taking views. "We" cram ourselves together like sardines in a tin, never stepping outside the safety of the security, which technology has created for us. And living this way "We" never see what is in our backyard, or just down the street, or in the next county over. When "We" do walk outside it is with our heads down, dark glasses shaded over our eyes and plugged into the latest gadget. Am I the only one who knows the pine forests smell sweetest after a spring shower? Maybe not, but sometimes it sure feels like it.

It is good to be home! Dave and I have been staying on some property outside of Bend. Like the desert in Utah, we are surrounded by iron-rich earth, junipers, with cottontails crossing from one sage bush to the next. The white peaks of Bachelor, Faith, Hope, Charity and Broken Top spread wide along the horizon welcoming us back. A friend expressed to me the other day, "I feel like I have my right arm back again". It is the familiarity of knowing a place, its people, its roads, its ways, that is a comfort to me. Dorothy had it right when clicking her heals she repeated, "There's no place like Home, there's no place like Home". Knowing you have someone and someplace to return to always makes the leaving that much easier.

It's good to be Home, so watch out everyone WE'RE BACK!

photos are as follows:

Dave and I in the Deschutes Badlands.

The desert along Utah's route 21.

Rest stop outside Winnemucca, stopped for a LB

Home

Her-Story

written January 12, 2010 Grand Junction, Co.

"I never eat December snowflakes, I always wait until January"

-Lucy Van Pelt, Peanuts

It's cold here! Today I watched the clouds drop low and cloak my view of the Grand Mesa. One minute the looming plateau was there, it's flat top and sharp ridges holding remnants of crusty snow, like scabs on old wounds. Then as if by magic a thick veil of cloud enveloped the mass of rock obscuring its shape and dissolving it into the gloomy gray backdrop of overcast skies. An illusion performed by the Great Illusionist. Occasionally the sun puts in an appearance.

Then I hear the dripping of snow and ice from the trailer's top and the brown crusty grass

softens into small swampy patches where the snow has disappeared. But I am NOT fooled by this mirage of Spring and am glad for my knitted wool booties and the full tanks of propane. Today the few degrees of "warm" comes only in drops of small fragile flakes of precipitation descending from the sky, leaving more white stuff on the ground. Each day Dave and I tell ourselves soon, soon we will return to Oregon, but that time has not yet come. It is still snowing.

So instead with cup of tea in hand I hunker down with a long book to pass the winter with. I sit against the trailer window, an attempt to absorb warm rays of heat penetrating the glass, Sackett curled upon my lap, much like a cub curled against his mama as they hibernate through the cold together. I am reading Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell, and have nearly reached the end. This is a book I have often sold time and time again to high schoolers for their advanced reading classes, to women in local book groups, and to those who just want to read an American classic. I never thought to pick it up and read it myself, until I found it on a dusty shelf in a shed at an estate sale. "For $1 it would be worth it" I thought. It is absolutely fabulous! The movie was made only three years after the book was first published (1936),

big names, big sets, lots of Oscars. I'll watch it as soon as I have finished the book.

Reading about the American Civil War has jump started my eagerness to learn more about this turbulent period in our history, especially once I discovered the local library had history lessons on DVD. I checked the series out and now have spent an hour or two each day, sometimes more, learning from the best instructors. It is presented in a lecture format, creating the appearance of sitting in on a college class. The gentleman lecturing is a professor of History at the University of Virginia and Civil War is his specialty. This, on top of the first edition of Harper's Illustrated History of the Civil War , that Dave picked up at a garage sale, has kept me up to my eyebrows in the 1860's. I have been absorbed to the point that this bit of history learning has lead me back into the pages of my family's past. I have two relatives who fought in the war, one was a Captain, the other a Private, both for the Confederate States of America. My educational project has brought these men to life for me. Through a letter my Uncle discovered and some of my own investigating I've been able to trace some of their journey and have a better understanding of the time they lived in. I've turned into a History Detective. I have a few pieces of information (clues), and from additional research, interviews, and puzzle solving (leads) I stitch the bits together, creating a bigger picture of my lineage.

Events of the past often effect things in the Now, and can be felt long into the future. I liken it to a spider's web, with its threads all interlaced. When one strand is plucked in the network the vibrations, or effects, can be felt throughout the entire web, creating a reaction.

More often than not it is the story of success we hear about. Remembering that this is only one side of what has happened, what of the unsuccessful? Who tells their side? Perspective thus plays an important roll in the "story", and the telling of the tale. Each of us has a different frame of reference, incorporating our feelings, prejudices, and in-sites. Possibly if enough of these points of view have been examined we may gain a greater understanding of the actual event(s). The Civil War is an example of this. This is at least something to give us pause and ponder upon.

Only a few chapter to go and I can close this book forever. However, the thoughts it has provoked for me will linger for some time. Refilling my cup of tea, I realize I may possibly have more time on my hands than is good for me.

A Happy New Year to you all.

Dave & Vanessa