I am healing from the fall to the sidewalk just across the street from our vardo. Two weeks, and oh so many moments and emotings. I feel the healing take place ... where there was gut-bending pain, there is ache, the bone containing marrow now more sensitive to the cold I wrap her in a wool sock with toe cut off and soothe her. "There, there old friend. I care for you."
The storytellers of times long ago, not so long ago, and tellers now awake to the similar sentences that string together in my mind all come to the Waking. I cry the tears and comfort the painful memories that show up to be acknowledged. The old ones (memories) entwine with the present and tears make a salty bath salve.
If I could, would I be a woman who does not describe herself as 'living with a chronic condition/living with MCS?" Probably, though the experiences are teaching the lessons of care for the self like nothing I could imagine. "If I could be ..." is also the wonderful question and post with delightful comments on my friend Joan Tucker's blog A WILD PATIENCE. Joan lists a long and vivid sort of prayer bead poetry reminiscent of the workshop activity she encourages in her coaching life. Joan is writing wakened poetry that infused with hope and spring-like joy after visiting her blog; just the emotions I would be "if I were an emotion." And if I could be an element of nature ... I would be the morning dew.
Here's just a teaser of the list of "If I could be ..." . Link to read the entire post ... you'll love it!
If I were a gem stone I’d be an emerald
If I were a tree I’d be a maple
If I were a tool I’d be a hammer
If I were a flower I’d be a lady slipper
If I were an element of weather I’d be a spring rain
If I were a musical instrument I’d be an oboe
If I were a color I'd be purple
If I were an emotion I’d be joyful
Another spring inspiration came from my DIY and wild places friend Leslie Richards author of the blog THE OKO BOX. The inspiration Leslie shares is ongoing, as she dishes up a southern simmered kind of funniness and artistry that is Cajun at the bone, and Leslie unlike others. Leslie has recently moved from one rural world to another. She is newly home in her Luck Cottage ... in the town of Luck, North Carolina.
One of her most recent posts included the fabulous photograph now our banner pic here at Vardo For Two. "Inter-species" trees sang their songs to me when I saw them over at The Oko Box... I live that song my heart said. So, between my very long time friend Joan and my newer and no less loving newer friend Leslie, this old gal with the sock on her arm gives THANKS, THANKS, THANKS to the kiss of spring wakenings. Link to Leslie's post about them trees and then stay awhile to visit her blog and read how her new Luck Cottage is becoming home to the Cajun Elfess.
The title of this post comes from two thoughts from the same person. That person is Leslie from the Oko Box. It's dark outside, with the sun setting at 4:00 nights are long and day light is short. Perched in the middle of the futon I have been fed a beautifully prepared meal of fresh tomato sauce with crimini (is there another 'm' or 'n' in that?) mushrooms and onions. Pete is a great cook especially when he's making sauce for angel hair pasta. Today was moving day. Yes, the VardoForTwo plus One was moved. This was one of our shortest moves to date. Life as a gypsy-style MCSer makes for unique journeys. This short move involved a huge old house (next to the frontage home where we are encampment) being readied for a move. The man with the PALIN sticker on his truck pulled up earlier in the week just as I was heading to Scout for a grocery run. We got to chatting and the man was indeed preparing the 1920's built historic Everett home for a move. Rather than take the old home down (that seemed a shame) guys with tools have begun taking down the old fireplace brick (to be reused and relaid in the new location) this week.
We knew this was going to happen when we pulled into town a month ago. So much has happened in 4 weeks, the home project was just a hazy reality. Until now. I explained to the owner and the contractor about my sensitivities (there was a low level of engagement) and we reached an understanding: we would pull out before any heavy dismantling took place. Pete fired up the old beast, Bernadette and fumes flying and exhaust bellowing, our Kolea Nani was prepped for moving. Short or long haul, moving the tiny home takes a great store of energy. We were up before sunrise and finally resettled on the side yard between our friends' home and their neighbor on the opposite side of the home-to-be-moved sometime after 1 in the afternoon.
Dunnage has been sawed and stacked under the four corners of our vardo, the little steps are re-anchored, the builder's foil has been peeled off the inside of the windows and our wee home is back to its sweet comfortable self, again. Pete carried JOTS out of the warm basement to reorient our sweetie pie kitty to the vardo's new location. It's times like this when we have moved and resettled that drive the reality of our unique life home to me our dear heart. Throughout the MCS whirl that we know, this variation on a safe life is some thing else. Though others live in RV's few live in a space as small as ours. Our friend Leslie (another Leslie) is the other tiny home dwellers like us and Daisy O is building her safe haven. We are newbies, new to what it takes to incorporate the information that becomes more and more available to those of us who live with environmental illness and chemical sensitivities. There is a plethora of information and it takes time, health and support to try the solutions, wearing them to see if they 'fit', and then trying again when the body-mind-spirit shifts to be different.
Tonight's thoughts come with that spark of inspiration to be positive about the future. Seated here at Ruby's keys, warm from the heat of the Radiant Electrical Heater I have moments (fleeting as they are) of being completely mid-center and at peace. "This is exactly what I would love to be. This is exactly what I would love to be doing." There might be an observation that moving from one spot to another is less than a perfect life activity. And yet, it's that ability to move when your neighbor is doing major disruption that gives a less than 80 square home a major reason to be positive about the future.
What we do to make our life what we would love it to be involves integrating information:
life is changeable
others choices aren't mine to control
my choices are mine
getting as much information as possible helps (gather, glean, communicate)
managing a small space is our reality
knowing what I can do is my business
being positive about the future is my choice
practice, practice, practice (action, gratitude, appreciation)
Finally, Leslie's inspiration has also scratch a bit of a trail to a new tale. While engaged in a recent bloggity thread over at her place about winter time hobbies, my Cajun friend said something like , "I love imagining you doing tiny projects in your tiny home. Sounds like the beginning of a new fairy tale." So here is a snip of the that new tale wishing to be told. It's just unfolding right here in the mill town of Everett with characters and goings-on that make me grin and make me happy to be a weaver always listening for a good tale.
This one's called "Nasty Freezes" and Leslie, this one's got me giggling already.
There is a way of being
Beside the whirl you see
‘Tis open to the looking
For those who pause to be.
Tho smaller than the other
Make no mistake
The world you take as true
Reflects another still.
-a Maker’s Rhyme
An Archer’s sun warmed the insides of the golden wagon.A good cleaning just one rise past made for a clear view of every tiny place where Mondra tucked her unfinished winter projects.Never one to waste the glory of a wintry sun, the tinkress was out for a meandering collect of treasures when I stopped for a wee visit.The two black-eyed fish hung on her front door. The message was obvious to all her friends and not so obvious to those folk who were yet to know Mondra the Wee.I had already spent a good bit of glory raking in the last of tree fall from the neighboring oaks, lucky to have gleaned a half-hand of acorns from the greedy squirrels.So, rather than sniff her trail I pulled out my bundle of knitting and sat to wait upon my friend and basked in the late rays of the Archer’s sun.The click-clicketty-click of my needles has always been my favorite company.
The roar of automobile wheels bore the cold air, the smoke from the mill drifted south in the direction of the valley.It would be a congested sky tonight with the mix of wood burnt by the settlers and the making of paper from the mill just below Mondra’s wagon.I noted the condition and pulled at the hank of the silky yarn, blinking slowly I drew deeply of the air sorting through the emissions.Click-clicketty-click the needles moved a constant rhythm.Periwinkle silk yarn fashioned the final row of the exquisite mittens.Intricate colors woven into a pattern of oak leaf and acorns were Solstice givings.Just shy of two weeks before the promise of more light, India had a dozen pair of her prized mittens ready for the celebration.
“Orb’s near to setting.I suspect Mondra will have her arms filled with collections.”India speared her knitting needles into the ball of periwinkle silk, pushed herself from the wee porch and went to meet her friend.As she intuned, Mondra was just rounding the edge of the frontage house, armed as expected with twigs, branches and windfall miscellany.Through the mound Mondra spied her friend.“Ah, come to spy on me have you?Come and lend a hand then and save me one of those sweet acorns I smell tucked in your vest pocket.”Mondra’s deeply wrinkled face etched a landscape of her wanderings lending those lines to the dark and lights of the twigs. “I’ve a couple yet to share with you.Lucky that you dallied not a more, they are a treat indeed and of course I’d be sharing what I wrestled away from those silver furred rodent.”Mondra laughed that crispy tin rattled sound only a tinkress makes as India pulled bits of the windfall and branches into her own tiny arms.
Where's this tale going? I'd love to include your imagination in this tale ... leave a comment if you have a bit to add to Mondra's goings-on.
Before the new moon in Libra moves into Scorpio, I need to get the energy of empowerment and nurturing onto the wall. I felt the despair surrounding me and tried to sleep it off. After an NAET treatment to clear my kidneys and adrenal glands from exposure to a new environment, I started to itch all over. "Unmasking" maybe. Lately my muscle testing has been showing 'Herbicide' sensitivities nearly every day (not today though). I was exposed to DDT as a kid in Hawaii, and with multiple poisonings from Round-up in my adult life, the probability for more episodes of herbicides to unmask and reenter my blood streams (in an effort to detox) is high. And drinking two cups of coffee for the first time in years probably didn't help, either:/
I'm rambling to the point I hope will come soon and to get me there I'm linking to two posts written by my friend Leslie from the Oko Box. They are timely medicine for me, and such an affirmation: "We believe in the quality of nurturing our homes and our selves." On the night of a New Moon the potential to attract the energy you wish to grow in your life, is most potent when the moon appears darkest. A void (darkness) attracts light.
Here are the links to Leslie's two recent posts ... posts that inspire me to get this post on the walls. Sustainable living Girl in a (nature)bubble Both of Leslie's posts ring with a voice of strength that is the other-side of her usually zany and light-hearted creative, elf self. Creative solutions will come from a combination of complex thinking and complexity comes from being able and willing to express a wide and deep understanding of the issues of being human and being human with environmentally induced illness. I celebrate your voice, Leslie. Celebrate your complexity (Libra and all!)
This afternoon Pete and I spent the day with our friends. We headed for a town called Sisters in the Oregon Cascades. Our goals were first, to meet a land owner who might be open to us gathering our three tiny MCS homes on a portion of her land ... to take the next step necessary to grow good community; and second, we were there in that pine forest to hike the land. It has been a very long time since Pete and I have gone on a long hike in clean air and new to us territory. I was prepared with my organic cotton and carbon filter insert mask. I hiked for two hours without it. The experience of being with scent-free friends, talking and imagining all manner of positive community while getting exercise and free high altitude (4,000 ft) air was totally different. The difference was so wonderful both Pete and I admitted tonight, we are afraid of it. Too long has it been since we have had two hours of blissful company and positive experiences. Is that a weird circumstance? To be so far from the experience of happiness that one becomes afraid of it? Fearing the shoe will drop/the rug pulled out.
Our life from VardoForTwo has been such a long string of struggles, the possibility for change is what we seek and yet the familiarity of struggle can wear too deep a rut and we fall too quickly into it. So, this post is a call to the void of Mahina (the moon) during this phase of darkness to commit to the lightness of positivity and possibilities. Teaming up/collaborating with friends who are equally and different motivated and intelligently focused on new solutions spreads the burden of a sustaining effort. Like I commented on Leslie's post on the Oko Box, teaming up allows for the reality that when one of us is down from an exposure or weakened spiritually from the effort, one of us will be less down or even up enough to take the next step or help shoulder the burden.
VardoForTwo is a tiny wagon parked now in a field surrounded by barbed wire. I wrote about that the other day. Metaphorically, the image has a 'concentration camp' vibe that I have just realized I don't like. I'm writing my way through that realization so I can enlist the support of the celestial bodies and maybe make enough sense to those who may read this. We are in this field because there was no other place to go ... for now. There are shortcomings to this arrangement, and yet this is not the final step. Like so many parts of this journey to a satisfied soul, the process is slow. We get tired, discouraged, sad, angry and add to that the looks of judgment that we get because we look different: brown not white, round not thin, dressed warmly not fashionable, and the grief could really start to stack up.
NASA sent United States rockets to the moon earlier this week, in search of water. Earth was a planet with water that could have been enough for all the right reasons and for season after season. Tonight, as the New Moon continues to affect Earth with her tidal magnetism, I leave this rambling post like a prayer flag saying, "This tiny wagon is enough to make a big difference. We are enough, just as we are. Bless us with what we need to make it so. Mahalo Ke Akua. Mahalo Mahina."
... dreaming of JuJuBean her donkey (copied by permission from Leslie Richard)
Blogs are an amazing form of connecting. With a gazillion doors to open from our trusty old (2000 Sony) laptop we Vardo people have jumped into the ether-sphere to find all forms of opinion, news that never makes the News, information about product, on-line shopping and then all the personal journaling of bloggers, and bloggers who live with chronic illness like MCS. My oh my. What a world. It's safe to say bloggers have lassoed me from the brink, made me laugh, made me think. Without meeting face to face, bloggers have become a virtual social circle ... a substitute for what used to be my social whirl.
Last week I stopped to visit one of these bloggers, Leslie over at the Oko Box Blog. I first bumped into Leslie on The Canary Report, very early in my blog experience. I found Susie Collins' and the community of canaries with Multiple Chemical Sensitivities at a time when I really needed to know others were living with the morphing forms of this condition. Right away she intriqued me with her quirky and sweet sassy comments and then I followed her over to the Oko Box Blog. Leslie Richard is one funny, wonderful sistah. Her perspectives are elf-like, her creative spirit adventurous and her solutions for "upcycling" (her word for recycling) a pair of jeans or a wooden chopping block using real sand and a flat stone ... well, if you haven't met her yet go HERE. This is woman who has tickled me when I didn't think I had a snip of tickle left to my name.
On to the reason for the title of this post : DONKEY DREAM. Leslie is asking for donations to make a dream of riding a donkey come true. Now, if you've been a VARDOFORTWO reader you know we are dreamers and wish makers and we cotton-to ... we love...we support the wishers of gentle folk with Earth and the cosmos in their heart. This DONKEY DREAM is just the sort of dream this old dear loves to know about. It doesn't take a lot to support a dream, sometimes one something or someone at the right time and place will warm a litle Match Girl in her time of greatest need. A few or a lot of people donating a little bit will make this dream come true.
With permission from Leslie I've snipped a bit of her original post about this dream, and copied that cute donkey's picture. I like this sort of direct connection ... made across the ethers...make me feel less alone, and that is a nice warming feeling. Oh, here's a little bit of what she said in her email when I wrote asking for permission:
Hey!
That would be awesome, of course I'de love it if you posted about my donkey dream, i want people to know how awesome donkeys are & also not to give up when you are sick!
Leslie lives in the Smokey Mountains, in North Carolina on country land where she can be the best living on the Earth, in the woods sort of gal she truly is. This is her opening paragraph about dreaming of a donkey.
I am now accepting donations to help me buy a donkey! It all started a few years ago when I began having seizures and could no longer drive a car, or even ride as a passenger without causing serious medical discomfort. Soon after realizing my new isolating plight I met an old man on Reems Creek Rd in Weaverville NC who was raising midget ponies, he loved his midget ponies so much he teared up talking about them & he said they were his only joy... after hearing him talk a flash of brilliance popped into my travel weary mind that I needed something to ride on that was just my size! Over the years I kept my wish alive, letting it evolve with my changing life- but as my situation became more 'small pony' friendly the economy became a monster. A monster that gobbled up all my money and left me rather poor.
It's a delight to share the page with a being who has filled me with hope across the blue screen of an old Sony laptop. Wonders of wonders. Twinkle twinkle little star how i wonder what you are. Up above the world so high Like a Diamond in the Sky ... Leslie, this wish is for you and JuJuBean ~
