Sunday, February 20, 2011

Owl hoots

"In this home of the imagination, there is room for both the Sun and Moon. This 4th house nurtures us like a lunar mother, it sustains us like a father Sun. It invites us to sing and dance to its shifting rhythms. It holds that castle where we are king."
-The Fourth House, Dana Gerhardt

It's cold in the Quonset.  Not yet dawn, the stars and the moon create just enough light to make the sound of owl calls an eery echo.  From the warmth of the futon, pueo called.  JOTS is still comfortable curled under the warm lamp.  The slant board is no more.  We moved it out to make a bit more room in our tiny arched cooking-writing-hanging out hut.  The G.Jots (Girl form of Johnnie-On-The-Spot) is a Traveller's familiar.  A feline that has moved a thousand miles, a dozen places.  Still, she is annoyed, and was just that, when she saw us shuffling things in the Quonset.  Three days later she is adjusted and content to sleep on the orange pillow now atop one of the two bright yellow metal folding chairs.  A picture would be such a beautiful thing, but we are not yet camera-ready.  Our abilities to load photos still stymies us. 

A pot of water is working itself into a boil, a supplemental heat source.  A metal building with minimal insulation is still a draft tunnel.  The Radiant Electric Heater is pumping warmth to the right side of my leg, but my knees are cold.  From head to toe I am layered in the clothes that can keep me warm.  When I talk with my son I hear the activities of a busy young man preparing for a journey of crossing oceans and cultures.  I hear the joy of being with masters of Hawaiian music and Hawaiian healing.  He describes the latest change to the retaining wall overlooking our favorite Makapu'u view.  I yearn for the warmth of Hawaiian sunshine and the company of music, lilting voices, warm ocean swims.

The boil is on.  Steam starts to rise.  Pueo has moved on.  Yet my knees keep me present.  The owl hoots in trees rooted on a big rock island in a Pacific Northwest waterway.  I am here, Hawaii is there, and we are on the same planet the pueo, the Quonset, and my Hawaiian memories.

My venture over to Its All Compost is also rooting itself with focus and effort, my writing blog begins to take shape.  There are writing and creative projects to warm my need to express life as I find it:  two short stories are growing for submission into contests due in mid-March.  A dream of producing an audio-recording of my book Wood Crafting is making its way into flesh.  There is so much to learn, and with resourceful and adaptive methods Multiple Chemical Sensitivities does not wall off my dreams, but does instead structure my approach with real-life.My first gathering of PRIME THE PUMP an on-line writers group met on Friday, February 18th.  We are now 6 writers just begun to get to know one another, sharing the writing stimulated by a single tickle line.  The line this week was:  "She'd never thought of herself that way before, but ..."  Or, the alternate tickle line was "I'd never thought of myself that way before, but ..."  The writing was surprising, delightful, powerful, funny.  Click on PRIME THE PUMP (above) to read the stories.  Join in if you've an itch to write in community.

I miss being here at VardoForTwo, so I've stepped back here because ... I can.  It's fun to have options, and with the tinyness of my world where ventures out of the forest are few, it's nice to know I can always come back to home by walking the dozen steps here, and clicking

To listen to the Spotted Owl click here


Where do you call home?

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