Monday, December 2, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
"The safe oasis room on wheels became the right answer for us when our savings and resources could no longer pay the asking price for renting unsafe space and gravity was working against us as well. We are aging faster than we can continue to recover from Diaspora. The small space we have built is what we could manage and afford to build. If the choices of others affect us, we’ll move our home. What it boils down to is this: the inconvenience that make up our daily kuleana (Hawaiian word for responsibility) today is no less inconvenient than Earth’s endurances. We have admittedly been part of the problem when it comes to living with environmentally triggered illness. Now we have a chance to be part of the solution. Let’s see how well we do." - from the July, 2009 Interview "A Gypsy Life: Notes from the Diaspora" with Julie Genser of Planet Thrive
To the right the Quonset is our cooking and eating hut, and the writing/computer space. It's also JOTS hang-out, sleeping room and all around get your rubs and company place. Like the VFT the Quonset is 12 feet long and 8 feet wide.
We're grateful and humbled for the life we live. The tiny spaces we live in are small in comparison to the woods and the Nature that allows us to be here. I'm reading a good book that I'm sure to blog about before too long. It's Philip Shepard's book New Self New World. This is one of those books that offers turn-on-your-head redefinitions; like the difference between "being tired" versus "being exhausted; another loop for throwing at Darwin's theory of "survival of the fittest"; and a chunk of consideration for domestication of humans and farming and animals. All of it suits my Scorpio curiosity, and my habit of digging around.
Onward on Route 66, a highway I am told by one who has spent much time on it, "Metaphoric or real, it's a great highway."
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
"The six saimin bowls were stacked as they always are in an upright pillar one bowl nestled into the other. With time the nicks had grown but she never replaced them. Her company, and her family never minded. As a living philosophy the witch kept to her mother's original spell, "People don't come to visit my things; they come to visit me." I think it a spell because in her lifetime those sorts of people were the only ones to visit her. Pale's thick tea mug was emptied of the strong sweet chai, morning was bright with winter sun and only the hum of her computer broke the quiet. She had been up for hours stitching the small pouches that would hold a bit of magic and a few words. There was a birthday party later today but something needed to be stirred together for dinner.A funny thing happens when you step through a door you once shut with determination, intending to leave it shut for all time. Perhaps it's funny if you are blessed with the genes of drama which the Gods and Goddesses chuckle at and say things my mother once told me, "Wait until you have children of your own. You know what I mean." The thing about the way the Ancestors work is they don't tell me off so much as put me into the in between places where I experience all options at the same time. Ever live from a crack in a bowl? Reopening Vardo For Two is much like that. The quote that begins this post comes from a bit of writing done in my on-line, on-going writers' group. We call the group Prime the Pump. I created 'the pump' one February when I wanted somewhere to go with the fullness (and the limitations) of living from Vardo For Two. I could go no where. One definition of that condition might be 'isolation' but I had so much energy that needed out! What can a gal do? One option: create magic, common magic.
Soup? Rising to consider what she could fill the bowls with Pale ran her small hands along the side of the pillar remembering most of the occasions which left the nicks or chips. Lifting the top bowl a thin but growing crack etched from the lip to about midway. "Can you live from a cracked bowl?" She thought aloud. The image of Max, her godfather rose from the bowl like the genie of Aladdin. He said, "I know a story that might answer that. Care to hear it?" The Border Witch smiled at the question then laughed at how stories come to a storyteller. "Let me fill this tea cup, Uncle. I would love to hear that story."
The bit above is a continuation of the medicine and mythic journey of Pale Wawae border witch. In many ways she is my mythic self both more vulnerable and more courageous than I am to the whirl that sees me. But the grand reality of it is, we -- she and I, make for a better whirl because the story is put down. I cannot be sure where my stories lead, just as Pete and I could not be sure what would happen once we imagined a curved roof and moveable home on wheels. Seated as I am now at the keyboard in a Quonset Hut that was no where in my imagination when we were building Vardo For Two, I can tell you with some certainty: the magic lies in the crack.
And, if you need an astrological slant on things. Go here.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Many things have happened since I began blogging in 2008: blogs and bloggers have come and gone, I have a lot more gray hair today, and my love affair with blogging has grown to epic proportions. I've learned a lot about blogging and opened and shut dozens of them (really!) Vardo For Two was the first blog I started. It started as a way to chronicle the process of building a two wheeled moveable Gypsy-style home that was 'safe enough for us.' We needed to invest in the belief that we could rebuild our lives after I became increasingly ill from multiple chemical sensitivities and could no longer live, or be, in most enclosed spaces (houses were a no-go!) We, my husband Pete and I were part of the early stages of the Tiny Home enthusiasm thanks in part to Jay Shafer of Tumbleweed Tiny Homes fame. We drove to California in the fall of 2007, met and participated in one of Shafer's first workshops and as they say in the Twelve Step Rooms "took what we liked and left the rest." Vardo For Two did become the record-keeping journal of the process and the experiences of two old dears investing in a new beginning.
I closed this blog in 2011 when I felt the details of our lives and the direction of my healing was leading to new ground. I was healing. I was getting better, and at the time I believed it best to close the blog; leave diasposa and struggle behind. If I didn't call myself "ill" and retell the story of being so my brain would be retrained and recovering my health would come. I believed that. I don't believe it all the time today, and so I'm retracing old ground. The details and review of VardoForTwo, so much effort pictured in these blog pages, led me to believe others could be helped. We offered lots of help, but found that few people would pay for our help even when we asked. Resentment built in. There's really not enough time to live with resentment.
I turned 66 a couple weeks ago, and have begun what I'm calling My personal Route 66. The signposts and destinations for this journey aren't on a map, and it seems I need to reopen certain doors in order to move more surely forward. The quirky thing about this door opening thing is in the description to Vardo For Two "Stories Five Years Later ... life on the borders where myth-making and magic are the remedy" What does that mean? It means that sometimes the life you rebuild is one that becomes infused with the magic of myth that space and place that is no longer logical and uni-brain rational. The life rebuilt for me is one that does not re-enter the world at all the same way before I was homeless. It is a life that grows from the medicine of stories that are mythic and metaphors, whimsical and deeply connected with ancient Earth-based practices. Vardo For Two both the blog and the two wheeled moveable Gypsy-style safe place is a border crossing world from which I notice Nature at her unadulterated and live from that place.
Five years later ... myth and magic the remedies
"Stories Five Years Later ..." reopens the blog Vardo For Two so the process of rebuilding two lives might serve as a place for others to do a similar thing. It's very possible many many people will be doing that in this century. The stories that came before 2013 are true for us. The process and materials we used then are still working for us five years later. What has changed are the links to sites and resources on this blog, I'll be cleaning them up as best I can in the days to come.
The stories that I write and link to from this point forward are equally true. They are the mythic memoirs of an old woman who has found her ancestry of birds and storyteller. Both genealogies allow me to live on the borders where truth and lies become myth. Anyone who has rebuilt her life will tell you the process is out of this world. With the reopening of Vardo For Two I feel it's important to share the medicine stories living forward with magic. Maybe the journey and purpose all along was: forget what no longer works and find the magic that does.
Rima Staines, a sister traveller, storyteller and artist says if you don't look for magic you will never find it. I believe her.
Posted by Mokihana Calizar at 12:38 AM
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Our son is playing music at the Bicyclette Cafe in Paris
March 11th, 2011
March 11th is his Tutu Lady's (grandmothers) birthday.
She would have been 93 on 3/11/11.
What a great kani ka pila to be at!
If you're in Paris on Friday the 11th of March, go see Kawika. We'd love to be there with him.
Hauoli La Hanau, Ma.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Eva Cabella, Spanish blogger and "Canary" sister living with MCS, the illness/disease I have begun calling "Toxic Drift Disease" has recently completed a new MCS Awareness project. It's this poster she calls "MCS UNCOVERED." Eva authors her blog NO FUN. Eva's poster showed up on Susie Collins' The Canary Report, I'm sharing it here.
The many masked faces of men and women across the Earth are a reality we know; masked is sometimes the only way to be out in the public-world. Living here in the forest of South Whidbey Island, USA clean air, compassionate neighbors and tiny safe havens of space make it possible for me to believe I can thrive. In spite of the odds, I write from a chilly Quonset Hut with hot water, shelter, and loving support. Sometimes, I get impatient with the smallness of my life, wishing for access to the rest of the world.
Then, I see Eva's poster and I am reminded, there is still so much more work to do before I can easily step from my tiny world in the forest into the public. Solidarity!
Friday, February 25, 2011
The Heap and write about it. Prime the Pump an on-line Writer's Group is meeting, and growing over at ItsAllCompost.
Imagine credit: http://www.havecoffeewiththat.wordpress.com/
Imagine credit: http://www.havecoffeewiththat.wordpress.com/