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Here
in the southwest of England we are having an absolutely glorious
summer. Sunshine, blue skies and hedgerows ablaze with
wildflowers.
These past few
months have been a very busy time for me. First, there was a trip to
Spain for some early spring sunshine (see my report on that here)
and then, the new book which came out in April, plus I had signed a
contract for another one which had to be completed by the first of
June.
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Now,
as we pass the summer solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere, the
next milestone I reach will be my 74th birthday, next week. Each decade I get to feels like the best yet, and the
seventies are no exception.
There was a wonderfully enthusiastic
response to the last Elderwoman Newsletter, with a number of people
emailing to tell me how much they enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this one
just as much. We have some great contributions from readers, and in
fact I was sent more pictures than I could use this time, which was
really great as it means I shall have some up my sleeve for next time.
The picture at the top is the little pond at the far end of our garden
(the one that featured in my book The
Lilypad List: 7 steps to the simple life).
I wish I could show you the sweet little newts that live in it and the
tiny frogs that I occasionally see, their eyes and noses just above the
water. But those you will just have to imagine. I like the gold
highlights in this picture, where the sun is filtering through the
leaves of a tree. It is a very small pond, just a few feet across, but
I love it. Everything where I live is in miniature - the cottage
itself, the garden, the pond. Even the lane that runs by is barely ten
feet wide. But as E.F. Schumacher said. 'small is beautiful'. And the
less space we take up, the lighter our footprint on this overburdened
Earth.
Many blessings,
Marian
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FEATURE
ARTICLES
'Moving
Pictures'
A photo essay by
Juda May
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Butterflies
of Bentson State Park, Mission TX
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Juda May and her partnerDaniel are
modern-day gypsies. Their permanent home is an RV. This is the first of what I hope
might become a series of articles about life 'on the road.'
Juda May told me that |
when they were packing up their house, her mother, now 93, was
shocked to hear that she had. sold all her paintings. There was no wall space for them in the RV. She writes:
My mother asked “What will you
look at?” I told
her I’d look out the windows of the RV
and I anticipated having an ever-changing landscape to view.
As I write, a desert landscape is reflected in each
window. Windows
protected from the
triple digit heat with a darkened film on the inside.
Buttoned on the outside are protective shades
in pure white. Even
with the dimming,
the deep blue desert sky shines radiant overhead and the sun bleached
foothills
of Yuma, Arizona stand as silent sentinels.
Vertical trees with fans as leaves dance in delight
to the winds that
wash over them like waves in the sea.
A month previously our windows
reflected the fog off the bay
each morning in San Diego.
Bougainvillea, fortnight lilies and camellias
bloomed in bright
disarray. Hummingbirds
and sparrows
played among the flowers as our cats sharpened their claws on the
branches and
ate grass.
Daniel, my Crony of 15 years
and I, with our cats Houdini
and Wink journey snail like from one destination to another. Sometimes we stay a month,
or 3 or 12, to
explore our new territory.
On the road to Yuma
Each day is an adventure.
Each day brings us something new.
In Tucson we listened to the hoot hoot hooting of
two Great Horned Owls
and spied on them in the palm trees next to our RV.
In Yuma at sunset we watch bats darting above
the treetops and pollinating the blossoms of the majestic Saguaros.
Quail, roadrunners,
lizards, brilliant
birds, millions of butterflies have been framed in our window
landscapes.
Sabino Canyon, Tucson AZ
We have also experienced this
past winter, Texas
weather. Winds you
have to power
yourself into to walk. Rain
thundering
across the land and pelting our windows with huge splats. Cold that blows right
through you and lets
you know you are alive. And
in between,
one perfect day to celebrate and remember before the clouds once again
whiten
the sky.
We have looked out at lakes of
the deepest blue surrounded
by pink sandstone cliffs that mirror the water and make it appear
bottomless in
New Mexico. A land
where hundreds of
species of dragonflies and grasshoppers with brilliant scarlet and gold
wings
flew by.
Lea Lake (Bottomless Lakes State Park, near Roswell NM)
We rejoice at the parade of
people passing by our
windows. Some on
bicycles, golf carts,
motorcycles, or on foot and usually two by two with a companion pet. We’ve spotted parrots,
tortoises, exotic dogs
and cats all on long leashes sauntering by.
The hospitality of the Mexican
people in Mission, Texas was
as warm as their delicious dishes.
Holidays with reunited relatives and new friends,
rivers we rode by the
side for miles on our bicycles are just a few of the memories.
Missions
Bike Trail, San Antonio TX
The River Walk in San Antonio,
the Alamo, history and
mesquite trees. In
the winter the
mesquites bare their limbs and flaunt their shapes as their branches
blow in
the wind as ballerinas performing pirouettes.
All this and more is our window
landscape as well as starlit
skies to delight our senses before retiring each night.
We’ve discovered that RV-ing
truly is what you make it. Whatever
you are looking for is waiting for
you right outside
your windows.
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The Pause that Refreshes
by
Patricia
Frank
First the Tide
Rushes In...then...
Have
you ever noticed how life seems to ebb and flow?
It sure does for me. First life rushes to
shore, then recedes,
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pulling all that's left behind. Wild and
tumultuous times
are followed by quiet times when tide turns slack.
Those can be the hardest
moments.
Those slack water times when
life seems stalled. Left
without a compass, we become unsure which direction to take. This
uncomfortable
floundering about makes me feel most uncomfortable. What's next, I
wonder, with
no answers apparent?
When I made my continental leap
to coastal North Carolina
from California, I left behind the corporate world of marketing and
advertising. Here, in my new little village, I hoped to craft a simple
life. I
would create the time to create. I would be content.
And, after a time, it proved so.
I turned back to my first love,
journalism. Interviewing
interesting, people, writing engaging articles, working with dedicated
editors;
I felt in my element. The sweetness of seeing my name in print as an
author;
this recognition, proved gratifying to my thirsty ego after years of
writing
anonymous advertising and public relations campaigns.
This was a time of renewal for
me. Oh, the pleasure of
growing older when we're free to explore our edges!
Many creative women live my new town, they
became my new community. Our shared explorations enriched me and
provided
great, good joy. I rarely laughed when I toiled in advertising.
But then the tide turned, as it
does. The economic downturn
came crashing ashore. My
steady magazine
clients, faced with reduced advertising revenues, tightened their
freelance
budgets and started writing more and more of their articles in-house.
Though I marketed madly,
pounded on doors, lowered my rates,
was hyper-vigilant in sleuthing for assignments on electronic job
boards, my
paid writing projects were reduced to a trickle. This was a lesson in
how much
of my identity was tied up in my profession. Little work turned into a
lost
sense of self-worth. Dark thoughts--who-am-I thoughts--came creeping in.
My social network aided my
rescue. With their help, I came
to view this slack water time as a gift.
This was my time to take stock; to pursue matters of
the heart. I pared
my cost of living and launched anew.
I began the novel that had long
been perking in the recesses
of my mind. The characters began to inhabit my mind and to whisper
their words
into my ears. Now the book's half done. My writing group has made me
steer a
steady course by demanding and cheering on each new chapter.
Then another shelved project
came into being. Four years
ago, I'd reserved the domain name of 'Vibrant Village' with the idea of producing an online
magazine saluting
community and creativity. But
I tucked
that idea away as too daunting for one person. How could one person
write, edit
and publish a magazine by herself?
I
decided I couldn't.
Enter fortuitous fate once
more. At a bi-weekly writers'
meeting, I mentioned Vibrant Village in passing. The other writers
seized on
the concept with enthusiasm. Each offered to contribute their writing
to the
project. Gratis, as there was, and is, no budget to purchase work. With
their
support, Vibrant Village came into being. The first issue was sent out
into
cyberspace in February 2010.
Vibrant Village is truly an
affair of the heart, a village
co-operative sans advertisers, without sponsors. It's freeing, during
this
birthing process, to pursue the work of generous creative spirits,
without
thought of advertisers. Growing our new community of creativity is
sweet
salary.
And so it seems I've become an
editor. A joy is found in
this new, unexpected role. An editor helps develop new voices and
features the
polished work of professionals. Me, who so loves words, is in word-y
heaven.
Daily smiles are my fare. I partake with pleasure.
It's been said that it 'takes a
village to raise a
child.' I've come
to discover that it
'takes a village to launch a magazine named Vibrant Village.' We're still taking our
first hesitant steps,
finding our sea-legs. That's okay. No need to rush to maturity. Let's
enjoy
this newness, this innocence.
Perhaps in the future, sponsors
will come, those who endorse
the arts and believe in living in community. And if not, the gift shall
remain
in the doing; the reward is in the sharing.
My personal slack water time,
this time when the turning
tide had cast me adrift, has shifted. I've gained a new direction.
These lulls
are often painful, I've found. They can batter and bruise our
self-worth. But,
with time, comes again a freshening breeze to fill our sails. And off
we go,
puffed with new energy.
| Maybe there awaits something
tucked away awaiting discovery
on the map of your mind. Could be your time has come to raise anchor.
When you
do, may the tide lift you and carry you to new lands of wonder. I send
best
wishes for a happy voyage to each brave, new explorer. |
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When not
editing and publishing Vibrant Village (www.vibrantvillage.com
), Patricia Comroe Frank serves as a freelance writer and editor for
communications projects. She especially loves working with non-profits,
wise
elders, and sustainable businesses. You can meet and talk to
Patti via Vibrant Village or on our Elderwomanspace
Network**
(**
if you're not a member of our Elderwomanspace online network
yet, click here
to find out how to join.) |
|
Back
to top
Age is so much more than
just a number!
By
Robin Korth
The
current adage
that “age is just a number” is a self-serving, reality numbing piece of
pop-culture idiocy that we have foisted on ourselves! The sad part is
that so
many of us buy into this piece of nonsense.
What
are we doing?
It seems we are grabbing onto a feeling of “youth” at any cost simply
because
we see “youth” as better. But is it really? I believe we are really
only
glorifying the wrinkle-free, firm jawed, perky buttocked “idealized”
vision of
the youthful body.
Is
there truly no
difference between the mind, heart and spirit of an untried 22-year-old
and a
fairly seasoned 50-something? You bet your not-so-perfect ass there is!
By the time we hit
our late 40s and start moving through our 50s
and 60s we have put some mileage on our vision
of life. Life has
happened. And, more often than not, it certainly was not the game we
planned to
play. But we learned (hopefully) to deal with the cards we were dealt
and how
they have fallen.
Doing life on
life’s terms requires guts, some solid experience and a sense of humor!
The
girl or boy that was the love of our life left us or we left them. The
beautiful babies that were to complete our family became teenagers.
Dear
God—what was I thinking? Who are these kids? Can I give them back?
The untried dreams
of youth became the reality of working harder than we ever thought
possible,
striving, failing and getting up again—and again. The career we dreamed
of and
work towards may have dissolved in our hands. Our health or the health
of a
loved one wobbled mightily.
By the time we are
walking through our fifth or sixth decade of life most of us have hit a
wall or
two. And those walls can hurt like hell. But we learned what doesn’t
kill us
only makes us stronger. We now know that we don’t always get what we
want. What
we do get, though, is the result of effort, courage and getting up each
morning
to do the right thing.
So those “laugh”
lines around our eyes and the not-quite-so-firm jaw lines are the outer
badges
of inner battles won and witnessed.
Age is so much
more than just a number! With age comes wisdom, courage, faith,
humility,
compassion, patience and hopefully a sense of humor. We have earned
every line
on our face because they reflect the battle of a heart and soul that
has done
some living and is so much the richer for it.
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Visit Robin’s website ‘Insights
on Aging’ and share
your insights on
what it means to be getting older.
She calls it '... a story board for our
times’. It is a place to share your stories and the stories of family
members
and parents, neighbors and friends—the remarkable stories of the quiet
heroes
that mark the paths of our lives and memories.
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From the New York Times: a story
about a very long protest:
On
5th Ave., a Grandmothers’ Protest as Endless as the Wars
A Crafty
Crone
Elderwoman
Judith Zausner (another Elderwomanspace member) specializes in creating
craft kits for less able-bodied people. Judith says: "My
mission is to empower creativity to the less able bodied and am
particularly focused on the aging population. I write a blog, Creativity
Matters, and design creative and easy-to-make craft kits that
produce beautiful results"
Judith's website is www.caringcrafts.com
Faces
I
often wish I could see the faces of all the people who read this
newsletter. Some of you have been subscribers for a long time and your
names are familiar. And of course many of you are also members of
Elderwomanspace, and so I do know what you look
like. But there
are hundreds more whose faces I have never seen. So here, just for fun,
is a photo that one of our readers, Gloria Heard, sent me of her friend
DawnMogren (another long-time reader of this Newsletter) enjoying the
company of a rather handsome gentleman named Rufus.
Dawn is a member of
Elderwomanspace. (Rufus is not eligible for membership as he is male.)
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Crones Counsel held its
first national
gathering in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, October 1993.
In
the decade that followed, annual gatherings were held in the western
part of the USA. Since then they have been held in a number of
different locations. Last year's gathering was in Atlanta GA (and a
wonderful gathering it was, too).
If
you live anywhere near New Mexico and you have never attended a Crones
Counsel gathering, treat yourself. I can guarantee you will enjoy it.
This year's gathering (it is the 18th. because one year there were two,
one each side of the Mississippi) will be in Albuquerque NM, in late
September.
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My Virtual Book
Tour ... a message for the bloggers among you.
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As
those of you who follow my blog http://elderwoman.blogspot.com/ will
already be aware, I have recently embarked on a 'virtual book tour'
around the
blogosphere in order to promote my new book GreenSpirit:
Path to a New Consciousness (O Books, 2010). I plan to keep
'travelling' in
this way until almost the end of August.
I
already have a number of stops arranged, but there
is still room for more. So if you would like me to add your blog to my
itinerary, do please let me know.
What's
involved
A visit to your blog involves my sending you a
guest post, which you place on your blog on whatever day we
arrange, and I
then place a link to it on my own blog (and also on Twitter
and Facebook).
I keep checking back for a while so that I can respond to any comments
your
readers leave. This arrangement works out well for all concerned, as I
bring
more people to your blog and at the same time I get the chance to tell
your
readers about the new book.
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If
you are interested, and you think a post from me might
interest the readers of your blog, then I shall look forward to hearing
from you some time
soon.
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Click
here
to read more about the book, including some excerpts.
Back
to top
POETRY
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‘Crossing
Over Into Canaan’
by
Ina Albert, Certified Seminar Leader, Age-ing to
Sage-ing Seminars
Where
is your Canaan? Is
it like mine -
A crossing into the Canaan
of eldering,
Into
an
age of second growth?
Will
you and I have the courage
To
make
that crossing with Caleb and Joshua?
Or
will
we pull back from the challenge,
Refusing
to claim our place in a new land?
Will
we
see Canaan as a tragic ending?
Will
we
be afraid to face the future,
Repress
the unlived past,
And
be
left in a present without memory or hope?
And
so
I arrive at a the crossing;
A
65th
year that society has long divided into blacks and whites:
Work
from retirement;
Production
from decline;
Energy
from entropy;
Value
from worthlessness;
Public
position from invisibility.
Sometimes
I feel it as a sudden leap
Into
a
sea of meaningless busyness.
But
perhaps the crossing is nothing like that.
Perhaps
it is a place where old visions are reclaimed;
Where
lost dreams are rediscovered in attic trunks;
Where,
like Moses’ scouts, we explore new territory for challenges
And
come upon new visions and well remembered longings
Hidden
in cedar chests and photo albums.
They
trigger a secret ache to reappear
And
tears to rut our cheeks and choke our throats.
Perhaps
Canaan must be a place for celebration;
For
reclaiming memories and honoring the past;
For
harvesting the wisdom of our years
By
settling regrets and wrongs;
Forgiving
others and ourselves.
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But
I
say it is more than settling past debts.
Canaan
must be a land of ideas and creation.
A
rite
of passage to the game of second growth,
Earned
by having the courage to make the journey
Without
knowing what waits on the far shore.
The
prize is bonus years to turn regrets
Into
a
riotous fall-colored reality.
A
ticket to enter sacred territory and stake our claim
To
creating meaning from a whirl of chaotic change.
A
chance to ride the leading edge of human evolution;
To
light the torch of human dignity
And
pass it on to generations watching on the horizon
For
a
sign from us that that they can come forward in safety.
There
is a bonfire in my soul;
A
longing and excitement to be part of what lies beyond that horizon;
To
take
my place and answer the shaman’s voice
That
calls us to the service of building
A
new
vision from our ancient weavings
That
couple in the river of energy that holds us all,
Sifting
our human elements and mixing them in a grand design
That
will ride high on God’s shoulders into Canaan
With
horns blaring and drums thundering
To
conquer Jericho once again with Joshua and Caleb.
©
Ina Albert-Secher, June, 2000
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Alum
In
honor
of the death of a horse 2/2010
by
Janey
Rivers
In
his
memory there was a white horse pulling a gypsy wagon
Or
maybe
it was the doctor’s buggy.
He
pulled
the Conestoga with Bro.
All
those
buggys and all those years of high hearted fun.
Sam
sold
that gypsy wagon.
The
one
he had made from scratch.
The
most
charming perfect fairy wagon ever seen in New Mexico.
In
fact,
came a day when Sam sold ‘em all.
Bro
died.
But
Alum
lived on in the empty barn,
his back getting more and
more swayed with the
years.
A
colorless solid turning white in the air.
© Janey
Rivers,
2010
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CALL FOR
SUBMISSIONS
Contributions
for this newsletter are
eagerly sought. Please send in your writings, your thoughts, your
poetry, a book or website you have found, an announcement or news item
that you think would be interesting to others, a comment on one of
these articles, a subject you'd like to see, an anecdote, something
that moved you - whatever snippet you want to share. Don't be
shy. You do NOT have to be a professional writer, artist or
photographer to send pictures or pieces of your writing to this
newsletter. I look forward to hearing from you.
LAST LAUGH
On
the
subject of exercise…
(Reprinted with thanks from
the Positive Aging Newsletter)
The
only reason I would take up walking
is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.
I have to walk early in the morning,
before my brain figures out what I'm doing.
I joined a health club last year, spent about 400 bucks.
Haven't lost a pound.
Apparently you have to go there.
Every time I hear the dirty word 'exercise',
I wash my mouth out with chocolate.
If
you are going to try cross-country skiing,
start with a small country.
My grandpa started walking five miles a day when he was 60.
Now he's 97 years old, and we don't know where the heck he is.
We all get heavier as we get older,
because there's a lot more information in our heads.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
What Do Retired
People Do All Day?
Working people frequently ask retired people what they do to make their
days
interesting.
Well, for example, the other day my wife and I went into town and went
into a
shop.
We were only in there for about 5 minutes.
When we came out, there was a police man writing out a parking
ticket.
We went up to him and said, 'Come on officer, how about giving a senior
citizen
a break?'
He ignored us and continued writing the ticket. I called him a Nazi
turd. He
glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tyres.
So my wife called him a shit-head. He finished the second ticket and
put it on
the windshield with the first. Then he started writing a third ticket.
This went on for about 20 minutes. The more we abused him, the more
tickets he
wrote.
Personally, we didn't care. We came into town by bus. We try to have a
little
fun each day now that we're retired. It's important at our age.
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