Easy for me to say...

And now for something completely different . . .

2012-01-20T21:15:00.000-06:00

You just gotta love Volkswagon . . .

May the force be with you!

A miracle on 44th Street . . .

2011-12-25T08:50:00.002-06:00

I had let go.

I had decided it would be easier that way. Better to focus on the precious time together with my loved ones, rather than the ambiance of setting the stage for that time.

There simply would be no Christmas decorations this year.

It's been a long time since the cheer and sweetness of tiny lights, stockings hung on the fireplace, little vignettes of long-ago stories set about, primitive creations by little hands hung askew on a tree nearly failed to make a appearance in my cottage in December.

But there was a time when I was too sad to deck the halls.

I lost a beloved uncle who was much like a father to me between Christmas and New Years in 1984. For years, the heavy cloak of what is called in social sciences an anniversary reaction pressed down any semblance of Christmas spirit.

And then one day, the cloak simply lifted. And I could smell the breathtaking fragrance of evergreens and scented candles, see jewel-colored splashes of glass, hear familiar refrains of tunes played only once a year.

Oh, for years I had gone through the motions to decorate, to shop, to wrap, to go caroling, to trudge to midnight mass. But I could feel nothing, smell nothing, see nothing. Not the blissful nothingness that comes with intention. But a black hole of joylessness.

And when the cloak finally lifted of its own accord, gratefulness and astonishment rushed in. And even the long long nights of northern winters did nothing to dampen my spirit. In fact, I came to love them, to love the candlelit darkness, to love the quietude of darkness, to love the introspection of darkness, to love the knowingness of the veil thinning, and to feel it.

This year, as I've experienced what is nothing short of a dream come true, I've learned that such times can also be about trade offs. I've been a musher in training this fall, elated and exhausted. Three times a week, I head north for an hour and 15 minute drive to see my beloved dogs. I greet my sled dogs in the dark, mostly, outfit them in harnesses, hook them up to a 4-wheeler, and off we go for a training run. Miles and miles later, my sled dog team is fit and ready to run our first race. But I am not so. I've let go my normal personal training routine, run around hither and yon to meet my obligations in what seems to be a period of genuine "not enough time."

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I rise around 4:20 am, bundle up in the dark, grope my way to the bedroom door do as not to wake my husband, slip across the creaky floors so as not to wake two loved ones living in the basement, quietly open the fridge to pull out the breakfast I've prepared the night before, and slip away into the darkest-before-the-dawn morning with my sleepyhead Alaskan Husky Ginsberg in tow.

Hours later, after my sled dogs are happily exhausted from their hour-long run, are hydrated with "baited" water, have full tummies from a goulash of kibble and chicken that I've lugged their way in big ole heavy buckets, have freshly scooped and cleaned their living spaces, I head home. An hour and 30 minutes later, after I return and shower off the doggieness of the morning, I begin my work day. And sometimes my work night. Free time has taken a hike for the most part this year. And that's OK. I am truly living my dream, and how many people get to say that? In 2012, I will race with my sled dogs for the first time, across miles and miles of some of the most beautiful winter landscapes this country has to offer. It's truly astonishing.

And though my tea bag told me the other day, "When God made time, he made enough of it," and I truly believe that, I'm a novice at this dream-come-true business and I haven't figured out how the whole warp the space-time continuum phenomena yet.

Thus, no Christmas decorations, no tree this year.

Until yesterday, when I pulled up to my cottage after spending the day preparing for my racing season.

A swag of sparkling tiny lights hung from the windows of the four-season porch. That was my first clue.

I walked into a front room scented and illuminated with candles. In the living room, all of my loved ones who are living in my home stood about, beaming.

The halls were decked! Candles everywhere, Christmas tunes played, and the most beautiful tree that has ever stood in that living room twinkled with cheer.

It was a miracle.

Truly.

My loved ones who scarcely have a moment of their own free time, had managed to find a way to bring the joy of holidays into the ambiance of our time together. Not only had they procured a tree, they had procured a tree that someone else had abandoned! On their way to locate a tree, they found one by a dumpster. And they miraculously located the ornaments that had been gathered and repackaged during the Great Basement Project, and placed them strategically on the delicate limbs.

It has got to be one of the most precious moments of generosity of the season I have ever witnessed.

Yes, I had prepared myself to let go of such a treasure this year. But apparently my loved ones had not.

Wishing you all the joy your heart

can possibly hold, and then some.

Thank you with all my heart, Laura, Sean, Sarah, Erik, and Julie!!!

Beloved EarthDoctorSon

Beloved RockStarSon

Beloved PreciousGrrrlChild

Beloveds JulieoftheSaffireEyes and SarahJane

Blessings to you

It's a good life, thankfully

2011-11-23T21:25:00.001-06:00

Starfish

by Eleanor Lerman

This is what life does. It lets you walk up to

the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a

stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have

your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman

down beside you at the counter who say, Last night,

the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,

is this a message, finally, or just another day?

Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the

pond, where whole generations of biological

processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds

speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,

they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old

enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?

There is movement beneath the water, but it

may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.

And then life suggests that you remember the

years you ran around, the years you developed

a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,

owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are

genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have

become. And then life lets you go home to think

about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.

Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one

who never had any conditions, the one who waited

you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that

you are lucky. (It won’t give you smart or brave,

so you’ll have to settle for lucky.) Because you

were born at a good time. Because you were able

to listen when people spoke to you. Because you

stopped when you should have and started again.

So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your

late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And

then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,

while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,

with smiles on their starry faces as they head

out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.

Image by TinyApartmentCrafts

Food. For thought.

2011-11-11T08:24:00.001-06:00

Spotted. On a t-shirt. Here.

(This one's for you, Hilary!)

Scat

2011-10-26T07:07:00.001-05:00

. . . in which I've completely gone to the dogs. . .

Click here for another "exciting episode" at THREE BLUE EYES,

with a behind -the-scenes revelation about the real "scoop."

(It would seriously stink if you miss this.)

Image

Sunday's gifts

2011-10-10T08:39:00.001-05:00

I rose early to work out Sunday. But a luminous dawn beckoned me to the stroll the rose and peace gardens near the lake. These were the gifts.

Is it autumn? Or is it summer?

The sweet, delicious smell of pine needles provided the inspiration for meditation under this tree

Always a good idea to accept such invitations, I think.

And may you find surprise and delight today and say "Yes," even if it means forgoing something Very Important that you must do.

All kids are our kids

2011-10-02T23:17:00.001-05:00

That's what I learned from Peter Benson.

Peter, president and CEO of the nonprofit organization Search Institute, died today. He had lived with colon cancer for some time with grace and the brightest spirit you can imagine. Peter, a visionary, years ago pondered the question: "Why do we always ask what is wrong with kids? Why don't we ask what is right about kids?"

And since no one else was doing so, Peter did -- and his inquiry broke new ground.

It is captured in his book, All Kids are Our Kids, an amazing read.

His legacy, in part, is the brilliant conceptual framework he synthesized about youth development. It's called the 40 Developmental Assets, and it describes the resources, relationships, and characteristics all kids need to succeed. His ideas spread like wildfire, and around the country schools, faith-based organizations, cities, counties, youth groups, neighborhoods, parks, libraries explored what Peter's ideas meant to them. And places began to look at their teens differently, as amazing people full of spirit and spark whose presence enriched places and people.

In the past 5 years, Peter took his concepts to a new level, naming that inner fire in young people sparks, and he invited all of us to help adolescents find and nurture their spark. He wrote about this concept and the work he did to develop it in the book, Sparks: How Parents Can Help Ignite the Hidden Strengths of Teenagers.

Peter delivered a gorgeous TED talk about this concept. It's the finest moment of public speaking I have ever seen Peter deliver. Bravo, Peter!

Peter transformed things, places, and people. For nine years, my professional and personal life orbited around his ideas, and while I no longer work for Search Institute and Peter (who was my boss for two years), I have been profoundly altered by his life's work.

People are always surprised when I say how much I love teens. I rather like that. Had I not known Peter, I might never have understood how important loving teens was.

To know Peter was to love Peter. He was a sparkplug, his walk almost a jaunty bounce, his attitude always a little full of mischief, and his head brimming with ideas.

Mary Oliver's poem, "When Death Comes," speaks of her desire to have embraced life so fully as to not have "simply visited this world."

. . . . .

When Death Comes

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth

tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

~ Mary Oliver ~

. . . . .

I cannot think of a more fitting metaphor for Peter, who in no way "simply visited" this world -- he rocked it!

Peter, I will miss you.

How capable?

2011-09-26T22:32:00.000-05:00

"No one is as capable as one

who has emerged

from the kingdom of night."

~ Elie Wiesel

Image by babu kantamneni

Three Blue Eyes

2011-09-14T01:00:00.001-05:00

Colt

My friends, I am in seventh heaven.

I am now officially working with 6 sled dogs for this winter and will be running my first race in January.

Come meet my beautiful team, which includes Ginsberg, of course!

Details here: http://threeblueeyes.blogspot.com/2011/09/im-pinching-myself.html

A snippit here:

Penya

Greyling

Lydia "Lids"

Elias

Detour . . .

2011-09-06T00:40:00.000-05:00

Hello pals!

Very exciting times at the 44th Street Accidental MicroKennel . . . a dream is coming true! More details to follow.

Meanwhile, I'll be posting over here for a while:
http://threeblueeyes.blogspot.com/

Hope you'll come have a look!

I swear, God has a sense of humor

2011-08-05T00:01:00.000-05:00

Mr Obama, you are not the only one today with a big birthday today. I have to wonder if you got a gift as cool as the one Natalie got today. I rather doubt it.

On our way to lunch, I asked Natalie (a seriously amazing writer, a cheerleader for my own efforts to craft fiction, a yoga instructor, a speaker of several languages, an avid reader, and a public health researcher) if she'd had any "signs" today about turning 30.

She casually looked at the sky ahead of us and said, "Yes. The world."

Have a look at the picture I shot with my iPhone (after I pulled to the side of the road).

Now, how do you beat that for a birthday present?

(Go on now, see if you can find Italy, Australia, Alaska, and the Aleutian Islands!)

Seeing

2011-07-30T04:22:00.000-05:00

"I am not interested in shooting new things --

I am interested in seeing new things."

~ Ernst Haas, photographer

My dear friend Natalie introduced me to Parabola, an extraordinary and beautiful magazine.

I found the above quote on an e-mail announcing the next issue.

The Fall 2011 issue is devoted to "the critical act of seeing. I find that a very fine idea.

May we all see today what the camera lens sees,

free of bias and unburdened by judgement.

Image: "Parachute Flowers" by Ernst Haas

From the stillness

2011-07-25T23:15:00.001-05:00

"Let us accept the invitation,

ever open,

from the Stillness,

taste its exquisite sweetness,

and heed its silent instruction."

~ Paul Brunton

Bliss out with some puppyness

2011-07-11T22:43:00.000-05:00

Three-day old puppies at Diamond Dog Racing Kennel in Ohio, brought to you by the same musher who brought me Ginsberg. Fair warning: this can be very addictive . . . you might want to set a timer! Enjoy

Streaming by Ustream

Keeping an eye on things

2011-07-11T06:08:00.004-05:00

The ever-watchful Miss Cora

Meanwhile, back at the 44th Street Accidental Microkennel . . .

Mr. B is doing well following emergency surgery Saturday morning to reattach the retina in his left eye.

We'll know more about his prognosis in about 10 days. He did have a bit of scarring on the retina, which means it had been detached a bit longer than optimal and could complicate full recovery. But we're hoping for the best!

He's quite the sleepyhead, which is good, because rest is always good for healing, yes?

And here he is, the ole pirate himself, in white . . .

See the lovely green wristband? That's a heads-up to any healthcare providers (dentists, in particular) that Mr. B has a gas bubble in his eye. Yep, a gas bubble. That's what keeps everything nicely tucked into place while the retina heals. But it would be a very bad thing for Mr. B to have a dose of nitrous oxide (aka laughing gas) right now. As I understand, the addition of extra gas into his body could expand the bubble quite beyond comfort!

Here's hoping your retinas stay nice and fixed! But if you should happen to notice a larger-than-normal number of floaters speckling your vision or see flashes or sparks or feel as though a window shade has been pulled down over a part of your vision, please know that such symptoms constitute an emergency. Posthaste, get yourself to a doctor.

We'll all sleep better if you do.

Cora does her ever-loving best to keep an eye (her blue one, not her brown one) on Mr. B -- and rest.

Whilst Charlotte (left) and Ginsberg (right) think resting is a silly idea when the humans are otherwise preoccupied!

May your week be full of great vision!

How do I answer that question?

2011-07-10T01:23:00.003-05:00

She was so cheery, grabbing the menus, leading me to my table.

"How's your day been so far?"

How on earth to answer that question? I wondered.

I'd awakened before my iPhone alarm was scheduled to go off at 6 am this morning.

[When did I start to use a phone as my night clock and alarm? Not just a cordless phone. A phone I can take ANYWHERE, communicate immediately with anyone who has a similar phone without even uttering one word aloud. A phone that allowed me to snatch out of thin air images that make the phone act and look just like the sony flip numbers clock I used in college--only this one was free!]

I walked my dogs, though I was not supposed to yet, because I'm still recovering from shoulder surgery during which a small camera probe and tiny tools had been inserted into the joint, the bursa exploded, and some diseased bone shaved off -- all so I can continue to mush.

[I'm not even sure they would have performed this surgery on someone older than 30 two decades ago. Mush? Five years ago, I hated winter in Minnesota.]

And when I got back from the walk, Mr. B was ready for me to drive him to the hospital where a precision team would work to reverse a process that not so long ago would have meant certain blindness. When he went to bed last night, Mr. B could see out of the bottom half of his left eye. When he woke up, he could see only out of one-third. By 7 am we were on our way to have his retina reattached.

[That's right. His RETINA reattached. Retina. As in the part of the eye we learned about in grade school that is very very important to seeing. Mr. B and I are fortunate to have excellent health insurance and healthcare providers who yesterday shuffled Mr. him off post-haste to a super-specialist who arranged for emergency surgery first thing this morning.]

I mean, my head was beginning to spin with the incredibleness of it all. It reminded me of how weird it feels to cover thousands of miles across country in just a few hours by plane, and how LONG that same trip would take by car, let alone by bike or horse!

Within an hour after our arrival at the hospital, a surgeon had removed the vitreous of Mr. B's left eye, tacked the retina back down, and placed a gas bubble into his eye to ensure the handiwork stayed in place. Half an hour later, we were ready to go home.

[Wait! The surgeon just dug around in my husband's eyeball and forestalled imminent blindness. He even told Mr. B he could go back to work on Monday if he felt up to it. How is that possible??]

But before we left, I needed to let the family know that Mr. B was fine. So I sent a group text message and posted a status update on Facebook.

[No phone tree necessary. Everyone who needed to know had the information within 60 seconds. No long distance bills, no busy signals, no messages to leave, no repeating myself 10 times. Just one little press of a button, and swoosh, everyone had the same information I had.]

When we got home, Mr. B snuggled down on the couch with his iPad and drifted off the sleep. My son took over the shift, and I left to run some errands. I also knew I needed to simply process the past crazy 24 hours. So I made a stop at a little cafe.

Enter the hostess and her completely innocuous question, "How's your day been so far?"

I paused a little longer than I normally would, considered how to answer that question, and chose the only response that made any sense at the moment.

Just fine. Thanks.

Image by feeb

Morning has broken

2011-07-07T22:14:00.002-05:00

A few images from my visit to Lake Harriet at 5 am Wednesday . . . so peaceful.

. . . . .

And this little bit of verse downloaded itself soon after I took these shots. I haven't a clue what it means, so if you do, please let me know.

Lift your eyes at dawn

Lift your eyes

from your sleep soft face

The pale petal of dawn

washes the shore but briefly

waiting for no one.

The beloved

sweetly raises the veil

for a kiss.

O, wise one,

you already know what to do

Open the window

and begin

Kathleen Kimball-Baker 2011

May you begin your day in peace . . .

Move, move, move

2011-07-03T10:06:00.002-05:00

I love how uninhibited young kids are, often expressing themselves with crazy gestures and wriggly bodies.

Sometimes I think how fun it would be to twirl and skip and wave my arms around just because someone said something that made me happy. Or, to throw myself on the floor, scream, and kick because I couldn't have my way.

When does that freedom expression change? When do we get so self-conscious that we suck our expressions back inside, leaving only the vestige of our former selves in the lack of a "poker face."

I have friends who can't talk without waving their hands about, and I love that about them. And I know it really helps me to rub my hands on my face when I'm tired, or sad, or frustrated.

But I'm pretty sure I'd be considered a lunatic if I threw myself on the ground and sobbed because my favorite cafe just ran out of the soup of the day.

So I was delighted to see Bobby McFerrin's wonderful video "Opportunity," I just love how he puts his whole body into his music. And while I know full well he sings acapella, I swear it didn't really sink in till midway through this piece that not a single instrument but his voice and body supplied the sound track.

Enjoy!

Image by mayercolin

A walk on the tame side

2011-06-30T00:54:00.001-05:00

Up again early, and peace gardens at Lake Harriet whispered an invitation.

I accepted. These were the favors . . .

Stripes capture my attention first

Bonus! More stripes

My, but the bees were so busy I could scarcely get them into focus

There, that's a little better

The remains of some kind of steampunk bottlecap head marionette?

Had this been under water, I would have thought it was coral

The wind up . . .

. . . and spinning like a Sufi (though all was perfectly still)

As I detoured into a little thicket of woods, the light takes my breath away

A shaft of sunlight pierces through the foliage

And is soon expands

Sacred geometry awaits, back in the garden

in the company of blushing petals

And the bees keep up their morning work

The world is waking up

And showing off its true colors

Did I hear the sound of Om?

Angles of beauty are everywhere

And startling contrasts

Nature's plaid

Lovely layers of light

And the bees are still hard at work. Thank you, bees!

Yes, it's a good morning.

Ours

2011-06-28T07:33:00.002-05:00

"The store was closed so I went home and hugged what was mine."

~ Brooks Palmer

'In the wee small hours of the morning . . .'

2011-06-27T00:03:00.001-05:00

All quiet on the western front (of Lake Harriet in Minneapolis, 6 blocks from house)

5:30 am Saturday.

I'm dressed to work out. I quietly close the door behind me so as not to wake anyone else up and walk to my car. It's light outside and I happen to look up. A delicious glow from the east is warming up the edges of the oak trees' leaves.

And I think to myself, Oh my, the light is perfect for a visit to the lake.

Exercising will have to wait. Beauty is in the forecast for the next hour.

Here's what I found . . .

A cluster of brushy softness

Mellow grasses

Curves

Nature's version of fireworks

What my hair must look like right now

What could almost be called jewelry

The color my mother loved most in roses

So much like cotton candy, I almost wanted to eat it!

"Good morning, dear"

New openings

Rise and shine!

"Social" climbers

Sweet heart

Ready to open

A wabi sabi rose

The color of my best friend's room, when I was in first grade

A blaze of summer

Sweet, freckled beauty

May delicious beauty be in your forecast this week!

31 years ago today . . .

2011-06-21T08:31:00.001-05:00

. . . Mr. B and I tied the knot!

The Honeymooners, 1980

Happy Summer Solstice

and 31-year Anniversary, Mr. B!

which father?

2011-06-19T12:00:00.000-05:00

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[caveat: this is not a happy post, but it is a true one]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I tend to fill empty spaces with fathers.

Before the empty spaces there was *Daddy*
scary. angry. funny. strict. beer breath. cigarette staleness. "i'll spank you if you ride your trike without a top on i don't care how hot it is." [to myself: "i will be perfect. i will never do anything wrong ever again. no one will ever spank me because they won't have a reason. i will be perfect."] mommy crying. mommy can't hear out of her ear anymore because he hit her too hard. "i am not a babysitter." "i love you darlin'."call me dr. kimball" [to myself: i am not good enough."] "here's a check for $1,000. you must use it carefully. please consider eloping." i know he loved me, yes, but he is gone now.

Then there was **Uncle Simon**
frenchman. martinique. red boat call *carribe*. fishing in the gulf of mexico. funny. teasing. laughter. easy. yummy steaks. cigarettes but not so stale. diplomatic license plates. park anywhere we want. red wine on ice. endive. salad after dinner. french and english and spanish at the dinner table. interesting guests from around the world. i sit with the grownups. loves me. likes me. kiddotheweimamaar with soft fur and gray eyes. drives me places. books. books. books. photography class together. buys me minolta slr. loves me. i am not afraid. i love him. [to myself: he is not like *Daddy*.] goes too soon.

And then, ***Father Moudry***
this is what all priests should be like. i meet him once and he always remembers my name. and my children's' names. "we are sorry for any bad things happened. you are welcome back." everyone is welcome here. every sermon is spellbinding. so humble. so wise. not scary. makes me think. loves me. helps me understand complicated things. please don't retire. [to myself: "what will i do now?"]

And then there is *****Ron*****
everything a father should be. funny. smart. kind. gentle. teacher. builds things with wood. gardens. goes on adventures. looks at me. listens. sees the good. really knows me. encourages me. believes in me. likes to go out to eat breakfast tacos. can speak in spanish. sees me as smart. likes me. likes my company. others love him. takes care of himself. "yes, i have considered your request and i will "adopt" you." my other father now. he is perfect. my heart swells. ilovelovelovelovelovehim. cancer. [to myself: nononononono not him. he's the one.]

In between
atticus finch. mentors. teachers. imagination.

And now
empty again. position open until filled. [to myself: maybe am i too old now to fill the fatherspace?] do i still need one? i want one. at least i am not alone.
and i am good at hope.
i can hope
i hope.

Curiosity

2011-06-18T23:31:00.000-05:00

"Never lose a holy curiosity."

~ Albert Einstein

Image by len.melanson

5 am - Lake Harriet - Minneapolis

2011-06-12T23:56:00.000-05:00

"Look to this day.

For it is life, the very life of life

In its brief course lie all the

verities and realities of your existence

the bliss of growth,

the glory of action

the splendor of beauties

For yesterday is but a dream and

tomorrow is only a vision,

but today well lived makes

every yesterday a dream of happiness

and every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day.

Such is the salutation of the dawn."

~ Rumi

Monday blessings to you . . .

The greeting I get everyday when I come home

2011-06-10T00:10:00.000-05:00

And 'joy can spring like a flower . . .'

2011-06-08T22:57:00.002-05:00

Hilary of The Smitten Image honored me with a photography Post of the Week.

Thank you, dear Hilary! These shots are for you!

"For happiness

one needs security,

but joy can spring

like a flower

even from the cliffs

of despair."

~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Quote found on gratefulness.org's Jun 7 Word for the Day

A blast from the past

2011-06-08T06:41:00.000-05:00

Heat is basting us like a hot dog panting.

103 degrees.

In Minnesota.

In June.

Sure feels like climate change to me.

In Texas on days like these, I'd pack up my kids and head to Galveston.. If you can't fight it, join 'em mentality, I suppose. In Minnesota, I whine.

So I thought I'd post a photo of delightful summer day on the beach in 1986 with my first two kidlets, PreciousGrrlChild (left) and EarthDoctorSon (right). RockStarSon was not even the size of a grain of sand when this shot was taken.

May you find sweet breezes to cool hot summer days!

After rain

2011-05-28T11:30:00.003-05:00

A few "pretties" from my walk this morning . . .

Poor Ginnie, I'm not allowed to walk him just yet . . . a few more weeks, Buddy.

'Viva sweet love'

2011-05-27T07:20:00.000-05:00

by e.e. cummings

"sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovertime
and viva sweet love"

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

lovers go and lovers come
awandering awondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there's nobody else alive

(such a sky and such a sun
i never knew and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)

not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing

(secretly adoringly shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)

"sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovertime
and viva sweet love"

Wishing you "time for springtime is lovertime" . . .

'Shed happens'

2011-05-21T09:20:00.000-05:00

Check out my friend Amanda's Cafe Press site for wry and gorgeous items with her designs (like this)

Any one who pals around with a dog is probably going through the same thing right now. If we collected all the dog hair and undercoat tumbleweeds or results of using our furminators, I dare say we could present Rudee with an inventive new fiber to spin.

I started a new assignment this week (which I LOVE) and in the giddiness of utter joy to be in the company of an incredibly talented team with supercool work to do, I happened to mention during our first staff meeting together that they needn't worry if they see dog hair on my clothes. It's simply the natural process of my devolution into a canid. And I promised to have good boundaries around talking about dogs. (Wish me luck?)

But more than dog hair is shedding at the 44th Street Accidental Microkennel. This morning I woke up and my jammies were so loose I had to hitch them up so I wouldn't trip on my way to the water closet. I'm mystified as to why. Having written countless wellness articles and edited many many manuscripts by physicians, I, of course considered the possibility that I may have one of the symptoms of the dreaded disease that begins with "D" and requires people who have it to poke their fingers each day and check their blood.

At the end of my risk assessment quiz, I got the following result: "You can't do anything about age, but you can eat right and lead an active life." Check, check, and check. So, at least for now, I've crossed one worry off my list. Still, my normal ~~obsessive~~ rigorous workout routine has been interrupted by having shoulder surgery, so I can't attribute the shrinkage to any intentional effort to burn more calories (unless sleeping A LOT and letting my body heal uses more calories than I thought). But the mystery remains.

So here are the possibilities:

I'm not eating like a honey badger*
as I did during the month of March.
That's when I was turbowriting the final report for a research project. Snacking like that is a bad habit that started during my cub newspaper reporting days. Can't seem to work well under pressure without something to nosh on--constantly. I thought was eating healthy things -- nuts, dried unsweetened mango strips, fruit, whole-grain crackers, hummus -- but maybe it's just possible I consumed ~~an insane amount of~~ far more calories that I should have. And now that life has returned to normal, my metabolism has caught up with me.

Spring cleaning works on bodies, too.
We're launching into an intense clearoutthebasementintwoweeksorelse project, because EarthDoctorSon and Sarah Jane are, drum roll please, moving in with us!!! Their goal: save money for things like buying land and paying off school loans. We're planning to convert our nasty basement into a hip, eco-friendly 20-something pad. Sarah Jane is a design phenom so I just know her creativity will inspire all of us. And EarthDoctorSon will ensure that we purchase only locally grown food, have happy bees, harvest fruit from the mushroom garden he built here 2 summers ago, and decorate our little urban patch of garden with a cool-looking hippie guy who seems to know every soccer player in the Twin Cities. But I digress. The point is that when you get into the groove of shedding stuff, maybe you're body joins in the party and sheds pounds. Who knows! Stranger things have happened--like people devolving into dogs.

Whilst being in a state of joy,
one's body eliminates what it doesn't need.
I know that sounds pretty woo-woo, but think about it. Have your ever run into someone you hadn't seen in a long time and they looked ~~way thinner than you imagined possible~~ amazing and you asked how they're doing and they tell you they're following their bliss and life is good? I have. Several times. Now, maybe when one is joyful, one is more inclined to tiptoe though the tulips and gaze at their food rather than wolfing it down and those two activities work in cahoots to shed calories. But I can't help thinking there's something more, hmmm, let's say "mystical" at play. Though I'm not wild that it's going to take 3 months to get the use of my right arm back, my shoulder surgeon said my left wing is probably just fine. YESSS! Maybe I'm done with repairing warn-out parts for a while. At least it feels like that, and the prospect of not being in chronic pain because I choose to be active is intoxicating. Couple that with our grand intergenerational living experiment and my awesome new work assignment, and we've got one very joyful me.

Off now to don my hazmat suit, goggles, N-95 respirator, and latex gloves to decontaminate the basement (You. think I'm kidding, don't you?)

. . .

*Do you know about Randall and the honey badger?

FAIR WARNING:
If you are offended by swear words, PLEASE don't view this video -- it's full of them. Also, if nature documentaries that feature predators eating their prey make you faint, PLEASE don't view this video. But if bad language, sarcasm, dark humor don't bother you, you may laugh your --s off.

Well, I do declare!

2011-05-18T23:10:00.001-05:00

I, Kathleen Kimball-Baker, being of sound mind
(well, at least I think so)

and heart (according to my recent pre-op EKG),

do solemnly swear that after the age of 65

(maybe, 67, or 70, depending),

will no longer surgically repair worn-out parts
(be they joints or a ticker or somesuch)

unless I can afford to pay for said operations from my own funds.

I am deeply concerned

(and guilty about what it has cost to enable me to mush)

about the growing national deficit, rising healthcare costs,
and the burden that unchecked spending on Medicare
will create for my children and grandchildren

(not that I have any yet, but who knows!)

It vexes me greatly that in our affluent nation
we spend so much money

on extreme tertiary care (research and delivery)

or the benefit of a few people

while billions in the rest of the world do not even have

the most basic public health resource: clean water.

Because I agree with the statement,

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world,"

and because I'm unconvinced that there is any political will

(or chutzpah)

to make the tough decisions that need to be made

(like not having an open checkbook approach to healthcare spending),

I choose to do my small part to reduce Medicare costs.

As a gainfully employed (at least for now)

American citizen,

I consider it my civic duty

to publicly declare my intention and willingness

to forgo outrageously expensive medical procedures

during the last quarter (or so) of my life.

In the meantime, I will make careful decisions

about extending the warranty on certain moving parts

(left and right knees, in particular)

so that I can continue

to live a joyful, physically active lifestyle

(mushing).

I will also vote,

eat small portions,

drink lots of water,

refrain from consuming anything with refined sugar,

only use the emergency room for emergencies,

wear a bike helmet,

wear my seat belt,

not develop substance abuse problems,

not text while driving (I swear!),

use cloth bags when purchasing groceries,

turn off lights in conference rooms after meetings,

try composting again,

help old ladies across the street,

show up for my political party's caucus

(even though the silly resolutions make me want to bite someone's hand),

attend my block party every August,

and generally be a good egg.

Perhaps you'll consider a similar declaration. I hope so.

(I realize that I also declared 6 years ago that I would never pay another dime for gasoline and that I stood by that declaration for only 5 years, at which time I fell head over heels madly in love with mushing and couldn't figure out how to load a sled and two decidedly not "service" dogs on a bus and thus I broke down and rescued a lovely little 2000 Subaru Forester -- which has seat warmers! -- from a salvage yard and paid for it with cash rather than adding to the national debt. But that's another story.

Besides, it's all about progress, not perfection, right?)

The fine print: I reserve the right to change my mind. Thank you in advance for your understanding.

Permission to do nothing? Take it for granted!

2011-05-14T16:28:00.000-05:00

"Rest at harvest" by William Adolph Bourguereau

Discovering nothingness

When PreciousGrrlChild was a senior in high school and we were visiting colleges, I made an extraordinary discovery one day. Oh, yes, the universities were fascinating and being on each campus stirred in me the desire for a graduate degree, but that's not the discovery to which I refer here.

This is something far more elemental.

My daughter and I agreed on a date to make the 3-hour trek to a university that very much wanted her to attend. About a week in advance, I arranged to take the day off and looked forward to our road trip together, to the break from a hectic schedule and multitude of conundrums I needed to solve.

The morning of our trip arrived, and I asked PreciousGrrlChild what time she wanted to leave. She looked at me, confused, and said, "For what?" I reminded her of our arrangement and she apologized profusely for having forgotten to get permission from her teachers, explaining that she really had to go to school that day.

I was floored. I drove her to school, then sat in the car for a moment and tried to decide what I should do. Go back to work? Tackle myriad cleaning projects at home? Pay bills? And then I remembered how many times I'd craved a whole day to do nothing but bead, to play with vibrant arrangements of color and try out new techniques for off-loom needle weaving. I felt a little guilty considering such self-indulgence -- for about a minute. Then I decided to simply go for it.

I cannot recall a single piece of jewelry I created that day or what new skills I tried to learn. But I know I spread out on the dining room table a glorious concoction of beads of all sizes and that by the end of the day, my neck was sore and time had passed without me having looked at a clock once.

I slept wonderfully that night. And when I woke up, my mind was practically exploding with ideas. I had to grab a pen and notebook fast to capture them. Solution after solution poured onto the paper before me. I could not believe the novelty of the ideas that had come to me. They all related to issues at work that I had tried for weeks to "think" my way into solving.

Something about the spending the previous day creating beauty, pleasing myself, letting go awareness of time had loosened up or perhaps rested the part of my brain that apparently was spent from trying so hard. That part of my brain needed a full day of "nothingness" to function again.

To this day, I have not experienced so profound a contrast between trying to force a solution and having completely ignored a problem in favor of self-indulgence, which I now understand was, in truth, self care.

. . .

Sometimes the answer is a walk

Image by joiseyshowaa

Whenever I've needed to hire someone for a job that involves juggling too many responsibilities, meeting dueling deadlines, and dealing with some pretty tough characters, I pose a few impossible scenarios during the interview process. My goal is not to see how astounding the candidate's problem-solving skills are.

Rather, I am looking for one answer. After bombarding a candidate with a scenario that could easily cause her or him to hyperventilate, especially during an interview setting, the response I hope to hear: "I'd take a walk."

That simple answer reveals so much: that the candidate has experienced such quandaries and knows that the answer lies in staying calm, in clearing one's head, in attending to self-care first, and that muscling through a problem is not always the best approach. The question has yet to fail me.

. . .

What my shoulder reminded me

Image from reversingIBS.com

On Monday, a surgeon removed the bursa and a bone spur in my right shoulder. He also shaved down a bone that was causing me trouble whenever I made certain movements and which made me a good candidate for a rotator cuff tear. Full recovery from this procedure takes about 3 months, but the first week can be pretty painful, I'm told. Fortunately, I'm a big believer using pain medications as directed, and so I've been mostly in "lala" land for the past 5 days.

My days have been something like this: wake up, take pain meds, reapply ice pack, eat a little something, read, conk out, wake up in time to take the next dose of pain meds, reapply ice pack, eat a little something, conk out . . . you get the picture.

And what has most astonished me this week is how when I wake up, I always expect it to be about 2 hours later than it actually is. When I look at the clock, to my surprise, I still have plenty of time to do nothing. Blissful nothingness. I can't say I've had any startling discoveries during this period of nothingness other than to remember how good it feels to do nothing, to be self indulgent, to take care of myself. I start a new assignment at work on Monday, and I can't think of a better way to prepare than by having spent the past week napping, healing, and, for all intents and purposes, doing nothing.

. . .

Permission granted

"Rest" by Vilhelm Hammershoi, 1905

If you've never felt that it was OK to do nothing, I hereby grant you permission.

Go on now.

Do nothing.

But do let me know how you feel when you're done.

Wind in the willows

2011-05-11T20:10:00.000-05:00

The breeze stirs . . .

can you hear the willows whisperng?

you may need to get closer to hear

or stand underneath the limbs, flowing with flowers

listen

come a little closer

you should be able to hear now

W e a l l a r e c o n n e c t e d

t h r o u g h b e a u t y, t h r o u g h l o v e, t h r o u g h b r e a t h . . .

m a y w e n o t f o r g e t . . .

See this Glamorgrrrrl?

2011-05-08T13:20:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a woman who was beautiful inside and out.

She had a little baby who would grow up to be an Adventuregrrrl

who loved dogs and hanging on monkey bars and running faster than the boys.

The beautiful woman, who was a girly girl, loved that little girl to pieces,
even though the little girl wasn't a girly girl.

She tried once to give Adventuregrrl a pretty little doll that talked when she pulled a string.

But all Adventuregrrl wanted were toys like pretend bazookas and helmets and swords.

It didn't matter. The beautiful woman loved her and let her grow up to be anything she wanted.

She even let her have a dog and borrow her boots with furry tops so she could go camping.

One day Adventuregrrrl discovered dolls--real ones. Babies.

The beautiful woman laughed and said, "These are the first dolls you've ever played with."

Adventuregrrrl loved her babies and took them to her favorite places.

Like Galveston, where they played in the sand and twirled and laughed.

Of all the fun times Adventuregrrrl has had, the times with her babies have been the grandest.

Someday, she hopes, her babies will discover this for themselves!

Happy Mother's Day!!!

The birds and the bees

2011-05-07T00:50:00.002-05:00

The birds will come later. We'll be joining several neighbors to create a chicken coop co-op.

But the bees have arrived!

Bees will build their honeycombs on these frames

EarthDoctorSon hustles the bees from his truck to our backyard

And gives them a once-over

The beekeeper checks his tools

The bees will feed off the orange stuff on the left. The queen was placed inside a marshmallow for safekeeping and the worker bees ate up the pillowed confection to get to the queen then encircled her and began to buzz to keep her warm.

Oh, Mr. B does love his little creatures!

Mr. B sprays them to slow and clump them

He's not taking any chances!

No chances whatsoever!

Ready, set, GO! EarthDoctorSon gets ready to flip the box over . . .

. . . and cast them into their new home

After which, he replaces some frames

places their good on top of the frame*

covers the frames and places more food on top

adds the penthouse suite

and their shiny new roof (I think the queen is in there, too).

And then he returns his attention to the bees that didn't get into the hive

and worries about them (hmmm...I wonder how I'd look in one of those hats?)

And Mr B joins the worryfest

while spectators PreciousGrrrlChid shivers and FriendofFamily thanks us for adding bees to the neighborhood.

oops . . . forgot to paint one little section

"Let's worry some more."

Uh-oh. Mr. B learns the hard way that a beekeeper must wear the veil more tightly

All in a day's work!

Happy to report that the hive is humming, and the bees are coming and going without incident.

They really are amazing little creatures.

Next year: honey!

. . .

* So a word about that pair of gloves.

realized just the other day that those gloves have had had multiple adventures in their lifetime. They were a gift to me from an amazing woman who, after surviving breast cancer, rode her bicycle not once but twice across the US. She gave them to me when I discovered how much I love riding my bike. But I found they also came in quite handy for mushing. I'm able to use them as glove liners because they give me enough dexterity to hook up my pups and stay dry.

As a result, they've had multiple mushing adventures.

And now these gloves have participated in setting up a bee hive.

Do you have an article of clothing with a story?

I'd love to hear!

Dogvergnügen

2011-05-02T01:30:00.003-05:00

dogvergnügen*

dawg′ fe-gnu-gen n.

i. The joy of being in the presence of Dog

= Zen and the art of deck maintenance =

Back: Miles & Brubeck - Front: Thelonius | 5-month-old Alaskan Husky pups from Shannon Miller's jazz litter.
Photo © Copyright 2011 by Shannon Miller of Diamond Dogs Racing Kennel

Ohio musher Shannon Miller, from whom I was fortunate to get my Alaskan Husky pup, Ginsberg, is raising another litter now, the "jazz" litter. All these pups were named after jazz greats. Ginsberg came from the "writer" litter; he's named after the poet Allen Ginsberg; his brother is named after Jack Kerouac. Shannon has a master's degree in English and is a remarkable photographer and writer.

= Jodi's happy place =

"This was on the Kobuk river between Noorvik and Kotz. They all looked so happy on the final leg of the race."

Alaska musher Jodi Bailey dances on her sled on the final leg of the 2010 Kobuk 440 Race, between Noorvik and Kotz. In 2011, Jodi became the first rookie to complete the grueling two 1000+ mile sleddog races, the Yukon Quest and the Iditarod, which occur just weeks apart. She has said that she will only mush as long as it's fun -- for her and her pups. She was the epitome of graciousness during both races, thanking volunteers and organizers at each checkpoint, even in the sleep-deprived and exhausted state of being these races are known to create. She treasured her alone time on the trails with her beautiful dogs. Jodi and her husband run Dan Kaduce operate the Dew Claw Kennel in Chatnakika Alaska. Jodi blogs here.

= A 'howling' good time =

"The bond between Dan and Keeyni was instant."

Photo Copyright © 2010 Amanda Stanoszek

Amanda Stanoszek, Ohio musher and member of a wolfdog rescue and transport group, was part of a relay transport effort that ensured Keeyni, a low-content wolf-dog, found sanctuary at Howling Woods Farm in New Jersey. Keeyni formed a strong attachment to Dan Webster, another member of the rescue and transport network. Amanda has created her own remarkable sanctuary for her dogs and a beautiful wolf dog named Tacoma. Points Unknown blogger Linda Newman, a Minnesota musher and leader of adventure trips, talks about Amanda's kennel here.

May you, too, enjoy dogvergnügen.

--------

* Found on a site called Dog is Good

Easter blessings

2011-04-23T21:30:00.002-05:00

"The miraculous is not extraordinary

but the common mode of existence.

It is our daily bread.

Whoever considered lilies of the field

or birds of the air

and pondered the improbability

of their existence in this warm world

with the cold and empty stellar distances

will hardly balk at the

turning of water into wine--

which was, after all,

a very small miracle.

We forget the greater

and still continuing miracle by

which water (with soil and sunlight)

is turned to grapes

~ Wendell Berry

Image 1 by puliaf

Image 2 by lugarzen

Gin'ess the Menace: ACTION!

2011-04-20T01:20:00.003-05:00

Little Miss Chinook

First, meet glamorgrrl Chinook (above). You'll see her in action in a sec.

Below is a "trailer" from a video I'm editing about the blast I had mushing this season.

Ginsberg is on the right and Chinook (who I want with all my heart but can't have just yet) is on the left. Chinook is a dream dog. She's 3/4ths Alaskan Husky and 1/4th Pointer, with very fine manners. My friend, Maggie Heilmann, a fast mid-distance racer from just over the River in Wisconsin, let me borrow Chinook for a week.

Miss Chinook, 6, just retired from Maggie's race team. She's run Minnesota's John Beargrease sled dog race and is a wisp of a thing -- all muscle, heart, and big brown eyes, weighing in around 45 pounds. She did an excellent job training Ginsberg and yours truly. She's very patient, and knows how to pace herself. Unlike, Gin'ess the Menace, who was so smitten with Chinook, he boisterously ran full tilt and couldn't contain his affection for this fast girl. (Check out the love nips action).

Without further ado . . .

Ginsberg couldn't keep his paws off Chinook, so I crated her to give the poor girl a break!

Chinook consents to a kiss

"Hmmm...he's a little young, but I do like his baby blues."

"Wow, she's my brown-eyed cougar, I mean, girl."

Stay tuned . . .

Big-hairy fear be gone!

2011-04-19T09:17:00.001-05:00

Hallelujah!

Ring those bells!

The universe smiled a big white toothy grin on me yesterday.

After way way way way too many years of letting my fear of going to the dentist get the better of me, I finally bucked up and went yesterday.

I don't think I've white-knuckled it in a chair like that in a long, long time. Throughout the day, through clenched teeth and a racing heart, I kept telling myself to just turn it over to the benevolence of the Great Unknowable.

I was sure I had done massive damage through neglect, would be facing weeks and weeks of root canals, fillings, oral surgery, shame, embarrassment, guilt, you name it.

Instead . . .

"You don't have any cavities and you don't need any oral surgery."

I don't?

"No, just put your address on the postcard, which will be your reminder to come back for a cleaning in one year."

One year? Really?

"Really. You're not falling apart."

I spontaneously hopped out of the chair and hugged Elaine, the red-haired dental hygienist who had just spent the better part of an hour cleaning my teeth in a no-nonsense, non-painful, no-shame-no-blame, Minnesota nice kind of way.

And then I waited for the dentist to come in, for the other shoe to drop, for her to deliver the real news, the "bad-cop" part.

In she came, and after poking around for a couple minutes, she said:

"Looks good. Any questions?"

Um, wait. Really? How about those two wisdom teeth?

"I don't think they're a problem. I'll look at them next time, and if everything is still healthy, you may never need to remove them."

Really?

"Really. Any other questions."

Breath? Whitening?

"So, if you're worried about breath, scrape your tongue in morning with a spoon."

Really?

"Well, if your gag reflex is too strong, wait till later. And just buy the whitening strips. No need to pay more for the other things when this will do the same."

Um, OK. I think I'm going to cry.

Laughter.

Exit dentist.

Elaine filled an ordinary ziplock bag with a new toothbrush, floss, and some little mini brush thingies.

"See, I told you you weren't falling apart."

Thank you, Elaine. I love you.
Which way is the door?

And I slept like a baby (which is what I've been for way too long!)
. . .

This morning, I feel like someone who just won the lottery, only better.

I don't know who the guardian angel of people who have had a painful dental experience as a child is, but I owe said angel a big one.

Because, poof, just like that, my fear has was removed. No more big hairy deal.

This, my friends, is what I call a miracle.

(Hmmm. . . . I wonder if the Tooth Fairy works in reverse?)

A special thank you to Natalie, who had just the right words for me yesterday.

She often has the perfect words. I hope you'll hear more about her soon!

Photo by Jose Guola

'Before whatever happens'

2011-04-16T17:54:00.000-05:00

Bear

By Mary Oliver

It’s not my track,

I say, seeing

the ball of the foot and the wide heel

and the naily, untrimmed

toes. And I say again,

for emphasis,

to no one but myself, since no one is

with me. This is

not my track, and this is an extremely

large foot, I wonder

how large a body must be to make

such a track, I am beginning to make

bad jokes. I have read probably

A hundred narratives where someone saw

just what I am seeing. Various things

happened next. A fairly long list, I won’t

go into it. But not one of them told

what happened next—I mean, before whatever happens—

how the distances light up, how the clouds

are the most lovely shapes you have ever seen, how

the wild flowers at your feet begin distilling a fragrance

different, and sweeter than any you ever stood upon—how

every leaf on the whole mountain is aflutter.

Image by Stuck in Customs

Safe. And found.

2011-04-12T22:00:00.006-05:00

She was shelling peas,
apron-covered knees
spread wide to catch
each pea/each pod

I, shaky, needy
wandered near

Her ancient swollen hands
pushed back the hair
that hid my face

She set down the pan,
and, patting her knee,
said:

oh, child
come on up here
and let me have a look at you

Her voice was safe and so was I
sitting in the lap of God.

The Lap of God
by Mary Popson

. . .

A couple weeks ago I was invited to speak to a group of people

about some things I learned during
The Year of the Sledgehammer.

My dear, sweet friend Sherry sent me this poem today
with the following message:

"You recently reminded me of this poem when you spoke. . . so here it is."

. . .

One of the greatest gifts I received in 2005

was something my head could not grasp,

but my heart would come to understand,

that beyond my ken
is the most wondrous existence
of benevolence,
which I choose to call

The Great Unknowable

and, sometimes,
God.

Thank you, Sherry, for your inextinguishable light.
You have so often illuminated my path.

image by Sukanto Debnath

'I shall have some peace there'

2011-04-11T00:23:00.001-05:00

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
William Butler Yeats, 1890

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made
Nine bean rows will I have, a hive for the honeybee
And live alone in the bee-loud glad.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace
comes dropping slow.
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the Linnet's wings.

I will rise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Image: Joe Schlabotnik
Image: Alistair Knock

Mi Corazon

2011-04-07T23:55:00.001-05:00

"Within your heart, keep one still, secret place where dreams may go."

~ Louise Driscoll

In the darkest before the dawn,
my eyes not yet open,
my thoughts driftless from
a night of little sleep

awareness slowly awakens.

My fingers are buried in a dense
darkness of quiet and calm.
I don't know when this happened,
but my mystery dog has settled
her silky self alongside me.

This is rare.

I remember when I taught her to play.
I had never done such a thing.
I thought all dogs knew how to play.
But not my Corazon.
I cannot imagine what force or person or circumstance
removed her joy

She stops traffic sometimes,
with her looks, not her antics.
People ask:

"What kind of dog is she?"
I don't know, really.
"How old is she?"
I don't know, really.

These things don't matter. Really

She came to me during grief,
and she had her own,
and in our becoming acquainted
we taught each other
joy

Overheard while working out

2011-02-22T08:05:00.000-06:00

"Honesty bows to compassion."

~ Unknown

I rather like that that thought.

Image by Kathleen Kimball-Baker

The stuff of dreams . . .

2011-02-20T01:27:00.003-06:00

I've been away from blogland much too long.

But I have a reason.

I've been living a dream.

4 blissed out days at the cabin, enjoying the elements

My sweet sled in its element

Cora, 5 years old, tolerating the elements

Ginsberg: 13 months, thriving in his element!

May you live yours, too . . .

Back soon . . .

I left a little something behind -- and its' not my glove.

For my PreciousGrrrlChild

2011-01-15T12:17:00.000-06:00

PreciousGrrlChild and her Gramma

"Hold nothing back.
Place the whole absurd
and precious package
in the palm of the
Divine
where love will receive it
with infinite
tenderness
and delight.
Sweetheart, don't you know?

You are the perfect gift."

Happy Birthday from your Mama!!!

Excerpt from "Perfect Gift" by Renie Rae Howard

My little Yearling

2011-01-02T23:02:00.000-06:00

Happy Birthday Little Man, Ginsberg

Then Photo by Shannon Miller

When

Now

May you be safe

2010-12-30T07:52:00.000-06:00

"Even though I often give in to the

many fears and warnings of my world,

I still believe deeply that our few years

on this earth are part of a much larger event

that stretches out far beyond

the boundaries of our birth and death.

I think of it as a mission in time,

a mission that is very exhilarating

and even exciting, mostly because

the One who sent me on the mission

is waiting for me to come home

and tell the story of what I have learned."

~ Henri Nouwen

Wishing safe travels to my friends who travel by road, air, sea, sled, and rail this weekend.

Image of NC Wyeth's "In a Strange Land" by Marxchivist

It takes a village to raise a mushing team

2010-12-27T02:00:00.007-06:00

Who's head is bigger? EarthDoctorSon or Ginsberg?

The pup is almost 1 year old.

Shortly after the new year begins, Ginsberg will be a yearling. As if to take advantage of his last days of puppyhood, he has been so so sweet of late, plopping himself down next to me on the couch, and resting his big ole head on my lap.

He still greets me at the front door with his paw on the handle (in hopes he can open the door), his ears pulled close to his head, his head thrown back, jaws wide open as if he is shouting with joy. It's so silly, I can't help but laugh, and it's very hard to correct his bad habit of jumping up on me and trying to lead me around with his mouth engulfing my hand. But I digress.

The 44th Street Accidental MicroKennel is coming along quite nicely, thanks to some extraordinary professional help.

Allow me introduce you to members of the Team :

1. Ace Team Handler

Winterfun begins! L-R: Me, Ace Handler Naomi, Ginsberg, Cora

I've officially designated my friend, Naomi, "Ace Handler" for the 4th Street Accidental Micro Kennel. She's been helping me train Ginsberg since he arrived. And it's no big deal to her. She's a horse wrangler, too, so large mammals don't intimidate her a bit. She also adores cats, but I can live with that. Recently she remarked that Ginsberg's head is the size that he was when I brought him home as a 7-week-old puppy. Who knew? That's my Ace Handler romping with Ginsberg, Cora, and me right after our first big snowfall last month.

2. The Team Surgeon

Happy Knees + TopFlight Knee Surgeon

I have completely healed from my second knee surgery. I'm astounded by the experience of being pain free. Pain is so insidious, isn't it? I realize now that I've had pain for years, and that it most certainly took a toll on my spirit and energy. I am incredibly grateful to TopFlight Knee Surgeon, who is a team physician for multiple professional teams in the Twin Cities, and is just as kind as they come. He willingly posed for a picture of me. Someday I'll have to sign a piece of mushing paraphernalia for him to hang in his offices, along with the authographed jerseys of big-time basketball, football, and hockey teams. Did I mention I'm the best musher he treats (and the only one he treats)?

And how cool is this? I recently discovered that PBS DragonFlyTV featured him in a fun video for kids about Real Scientists. I couldn't find a way to embed it, but I hope you'll have a look! It'll give you a sense of what a great guy he is.

Check this out!

http://pbskids.org/dragonflytv/scientists/scientist37.html

3. The Team Doctor

Smarts + Kindness + Access = Complete AWESOMENESS
(Image by Travis Anderson for MSP Magazine)

One of the best things I ever did for my health was visit this mother tiger of a doctor for the first time (oh my goodness can it possibly be?) about 17 years ago. She was recommended to me by another very fine physician with whom I was working at publishing house. She is Brilliant. BRILLIANT, I tell you. I have worked with hundreds of doctors over the years and I have never ever known a more astute diagnostician. (Watch out Gregory House! She's way better than you, a whole lot nicer, and usually right the first time around!) What's more, she makes me laugh so hard, I feel better just for having spent a minute or two in her company. Which is kind of silly to say, because we rarely get through a visit in a minute or two. Why? Because we're laughing so much. I was so spent after the Year of the Sledgehammer, she highly encouraged me to take a little time off and I did and I'm much better for having done so. She is the first and only doctor who has kept better track of stressors in my life than I do. Oh, and did I mention how much we laugh when I see her. Check out the awesome book she made sure the Team had. I am also the best musher in her practice (and the only one in her practice).

3. The Team Trainer
I've been sugar-sober since July. I just woke up one day and realized that refined sugar made me a little crazy. No, a LOT crazy. As in addict-kind-of-crazy. So I decided to withdraw from it cold turkey. Can't say it was easy, and sucrose/fructose/whatever-ose seems to be in EVERYTHING! But it's been well worth the effort. Rather than look at going sugar-sober as some kind of deprivation, I opted to take a "wow, what's out there to eat that I've never tried before" perspective. I've not been a big fruit fan. But I must say I've discovered some pretty fabulous fruit that makes me work at eating it (dehydrated mango strips = lots of chewing; pomegranate = lots of peeling; ruby red grapefruit = even more peeling) and thus prolongs snack-time (more like snack dining than snack scarfing) and makes it much more satisfying.

Uber-Awesome Trainer Alex Stocco

I also purchased 6 sessions with a personal trainer, who I carefully screened (whilst huffing and puffing my way on an eliptical machine at the 24-hour Snap Fitness gym just a few blocks away) for several weeks. See, I tried personal training once at a big gym, and I could barely walk for the next 3 days, while the trainer marched off to an hour-long spinning class, then jogged over to teach bodypump for an 90 minutes. I didn't want another crazy exercise addict putting me through any paces that would set me back from my goal of building the strength and endurance I need for safely mushing. So I set the bar quite high.

Watching Uber-Awesome Trainer Alex work with a couple every Thursday morning (discreetly, out of the corner of my eye) let me scope out the suitability of a match. I was quite impressed with his enthusiasm, attention to his clients, and professionalism. So I sat down with him one morning, told him my limitations and my goals, and he started tailoring a plan for me on the spot. I've been hopping (yes, hopping) out of bed on Tuesday mornings as 5:40 am to meet Alex at 6 am. Come 7 am, I wobble my way back home, but by the next day, I'm just fine, and I am making honest-to-goodness progress. After sledding on Christmas day, I had zero-zippo-zilch-nada soreness or pain. And I credit Alex with helping me get sturdy enough to engage in my beloved winter sport.

4. The Team Transport: SubaRuby Rae
I've been without a car for going on 5 years, and my last car burned waste vegetable oil or biodiesel. But I decided I didn't much care for the politics around biodiesel, so I opted out of car ownership for a spell. I did use Mr. B's on weekends when I really need to run errands that could take hours by bus. Mostly it' was fine, surprisingly fine, actually. But I've yet to figure out how to board a bus with two Huskys (who are most definitely not your traditional "helper dogs") and a rather long sled to travel to a suitable trail for a morning run AND return home in time for Mr. B. to have the car by 6:30 am.

So I made a BIG decision. I let go being car-less and of owning a truck, and I purchased my own car. She's actually a "rescue" -- a 2000 Subaru Forester that was languishing in a salvage yard. She'd been in an accident and needed some body work (who doesn't?) but the price was most definitely right--and she has seat warmers!!! I was able to bring her home without acquiring debt! May I introduce to you: Miss SubaRuby Rae:

Miss SubaRuby Rae, who was christened last month with SNOW!

5. The Long-suffering Team Husband

Ginsberg and Mr. B get acquainted

Dear Mr B. He has put up with many of my crazy notions over 30 years, but I think he'd agree none has taken hold of his "bride" quite like mushing has. (Ok, maybe beading comes close). He's a mighty fine handler, too. And he has been the voice of reason when I've expressed certain intentions related to mushing by, for example, giving me the stink eye and saying: "Are you out of your MIND?"

But this week, when I broke out the the sled, he joined me, running ahead to encourage the pups, and at one point asked: "When do I get a chance to drive?" After about 20 minutes, when I suggested it was my turn again, he complained: "So soon?" I knew at that point,I had him--hook, line, and sinker!

6. The Team Sleds in the Cities

As best I can tell most of the better mushing trails are at least a 30-mile drive from my sweet little village nestled in the southwest corner of Minneapolis. But there are 3 awesome lakes and a creek that totally freeze over during the winter, all of which are in walking distance. Around each lake are separate bike and walking trails. So it hit me! I needed what's called a kick sled, which is like a chair on skis only way cooler. I did TONS of research to find one that would meet my needs and found (via Google images) the perfect little kicksled in Manitoba, Canada. It's only 10 pounds! Sometime, I'll share the story of trying to get a Canadian-made sled across the border in this day of heightened border security and reluctant shippers. But for now, I'll just say that Rob and Tammy at Prairie Dog Supply have practically moved mountains to get this pretty little kick sled 400 miles south to me. Having been roughed up a bit during shipment, my sweet kick sled arrived in need of repair. And the necessary part is on its way. Once we give it a test drive, I'll post some pictures.

7. The Team's Name
Last but not least, The Team comes by its name honestly. We're small -- and we seem to be prone to an accident here and there. Like this one, which was actually hilarious. Only Cora, who was not in lead, maintained her eyes locked on the direction I wanted to go. Charlotte (in lead) and Ginsberg, took a "gee" all of their own accord. No one got hurt, and since Mr. B was the only one watching, no egos were wounded either (Ahem, we have lots of work to do -- and glorious snow in which to do it!)
And I suspect (at least I hope) we'll be laughing all the way, ho, ho, ho.

My most sincere gratitude to all who have made possible
our little Team at the 44th Street Accidental MicroKennel!

A special shout-out to two special Team Cheerleaders

Shannon and Ginsberg

Amanda and Tempo

Shannon Miller of Diamond Dogs Racing Kennel in Ohio, my friend and a terrific musher of Diamond Dogs Racing Kennel who made my dream come true by allowing me to adopt Ginsberg.

And Amanda Stanoszek of Hoof and Howl Farm, whose gentle and wise words got me through the hardest parts of puppyhood (ie, housebreaking) and who adopted Ginsberg's sister, Tempo, who has turned out to be a powerful little sled dog.

And as Shannon likes to say when she signs off from her blog posts:

Mush Love!

Yeeeeeeee-haaaaaaa!

2010-12-25T16:13:00.001-06:00

On my sled -- at long last!!!

Cora (l) and Ginsberg (r) in harness; Charlotte running alongside, on leash

Mr. B's first ride EVER!

And lo and behold, Ms. Charlotte joins in -- as LEAD dog!!!

'. . . and on earth peace to all people'

2010-12-25T00:23:00.000-06:00

Winter Child
by David Whyte

Myself at my door
like Blake
at home in his
heaven
my own heart opened
by the news
and my face
turned upward
and innocent
toward them.

All the stars
like a great crowd
of creation singing

above the blessed house.

Hyvää Joulua
Merry Christmas
Feliz Navidad

Image by Visit Finland

And then 'turn the mirror' . . .

2010-12-18T09:23:00.000-06:00

"Sometimes

we need to look
to those we love and admire
in order to realize what
we value about life.

We can take time to note
what we like about others,
and then turn the mirror
to reflect the light
of those same words
and feelings toward
ourselves.

It can be quite revelation to see ourselves in this nourishing light.

When we can put the energy
that we've been devoting
to a phantom sense of achievement
into the truly satisfying aspects of our lives,
we can restore the balance
between our inner and outer worlds

and experience true joyful peace."

From Dec 6 Daily Om
Image by Samantha Steele (flickr)

*A very special thank you to Uncle KT who sent nourishing light my way Friday.*

A giant 'sand' box

2010-12-13T00:51:00.010-06:00

Winterbliss

We're digging our way out of a big snow dump. Yesterday, we had near white-out conditions.

But today . . . well . . . it was heavenly!

And it occurred to me that part of why I adore winter and snow

is that the world turns into one big "sand" box and asks:

"Can Kathleen come out and play?"

It's always best if I answer,

"Why yes!"

Luminaria lit by the sunlight, spotted on my walk this morning

Sunbathing, Minnesota style

Charlotte's first trip back to the dog park since she broke her leg during The Great Escape.

The pack breaks trail up a hill: Cora (through muscle), Gins (by leaps and bounds), Charlotte (via pure scrappiness and heart)

Taking the hill in live action!

Surrounded by beauty--and love

Heaven, complete with "angels"

If you find your "sand" box this week, may you, too, decide to answer,

"Why, yes!"

Images by Mr. B

'Bless you!'

2010-12-04T11:24:00.000-06:00

"Claiming our
own blessedness
leads to a
deep desire
to bless others."

~ Henri Nouwen

Image by: priscilla_tonon

The divine Mrs. Kimball

2010-11-06T22:06:00.002-05:00

Mrs. Kimball

She was known to many as Mrs. Kimball.
I knew her as Mom.
My children called her Gramma.

Today I woke up at 4:30 am, which is pretty darn close to the time Mrs. Kimball died 5 years ago to the date. So this morning I got up, got dressed, went to the gym, and listened to tango and flamenco music while I exercised. You see, I can't dance like she did.
Oh my, could she dance.

On one of her many many visits from Texas to see her Minnesota grandkids, my children (then 3, 6, and 8 years old) decided we should have a dance in our tiny living room the night she arrived. We selected a CD I had purchased in hopes of teaching myself the Lambada, and then the kids turned off the lights and insisted we place a candle on the floor. Round and round and round we danced, casting crazy shadows on the curtains (what must the nuns who lived next door have thought?! ) while Gramma dazzled us all with her latin moves.

So this one's for Mrs. Kimball, who, at 83 years of age and all of 85 pounds, still knew her children, their husbands, and her grandchildren, despite her "touch of Alzheimer's," and who still loved to dance.

. . . . .

   Prayer
   by Mary Oliver

   May I never not be frisky,
   May I never not be risque.

   May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
   and give them to the ocean,

   leap in the froth of the waves,
   still loving movement,

   still ready, beyond all else,
   to dance for the world.

Mrs. Kimball strolls East Beach in Galveston during the 1970s with her dear friend, Mr. Bateman.

And Galveston is where today she leaps "in the froth of the waves, still loving movement."

' . . . everything we touch"

2010-11-05T00:42:00.001-05:00

"The more alert we become

to the blessings that flow

through everything we touch,

the more our own touch

will bring blessing."

~David Steindl-Rast

A Listening Heart

Image by BlaiseAllen

To sleep in peace . . .

2010-10-19T22:35:00.000-05:00

"Have courage for the great sorrows of life

and patience for the small ones;

and when you have laboriously

accomplished your daily task,

go to sleep in peace.

God is awake."

~ Victor Hugo

Image by familymwr

Frost on happiness

2010-10-03T18:44:00.000-05:00

"Happiness

makes up

in height

for what

it lacks

in length."

~Robert Frost

Image by pipitdapo

Follow the leader?

2010-10-01T00:25:00.001-05:00

A very kind musher on Saturday told me that all Alaskan Huskies go wacky in the fall, when the weather turns cool and all their pent up energy, stifled by the heat of summer, comes zooming out.

Gins 'splains the rules to the "kiddies." Mouthy little hooligans, aren't they?

Gins and his new best friend!

Guess that's why they call running at full tilt for an hour "the zoomies."

Gins is an Alaskan Husky, a "pure bred mutt."
His buddy is a Siberian Husky his same age.

Mr. B kindly took Ginsberg to the dog park this evening as I nursed my knee

(which I am happy to report had NO pain today)

and apparently my crazy pup scared up every game of chase he could.

Gins LOVED this chocolate lab!

Thank you chocolab for chasing Gins!

"Ah, the thrill of the chase!"

He would have nothing to do with "following" any canine.

It was all about getting other dogs to chase him.

Given that a certain comfort with being chased is a quality necessary in a lead dog,

I guess that could be a good thing. We'll just have to wait and see.

Bye, bye, zoomies

Whatever position Gins falls into on a team,

I'm pretty sure he'll be wildly happy as long as he's running.

As will I.

On the sled's runners, of course.

Remember my pretty sled?

She's the one in the front

Yeah, that one! Can't wait to take her out when the snow piles up!

Here's to wildly happy times,

and may we all have a chance to get the zoomies out!

The surprise of love

2010-09-26T12:27:00.000-05:00

"There is no surprise more magical

than the surprise of being loved."

~ Charles Morgan

Sep 24 Word for the Day from www.gratefulness.org

Image by:j urvetson

One should never ask: 'What else could go wrong?' . . .

2010-09-25T02:53:00.007-05:00

. . . Unless one is prepared to get the answer.

I certainly wasn't.

My post-op visit*, scheduled for 9:10 am today actually began much closer to 11 am. It seems that a members of a professional basketball team in town were seeing Dr. Top-Flight Knee Surgeon and staff for their preseason check-ups. And they were ahead of me. That, in and of itself, would make for an interesting day. Such a fascinating gallery of tattoos and swagger.

But there's more.

Eventually, my turn came around, and it appears I am making FANTASTIC progress -- despite the frightful amount of "cushioning" that's gone missing in this particular joint. The hope is that the surgery will help stave off the need for bionic knees for a while. But best of all, even when the time comes that I do need bionic knees, I can still keep mushing. Halleluja!

Still, it got me thinking.

Every injury I've had in the past 3 years can be traced back to one thing: my passion for dogs. And the question soon bubbled up to my consciousness: Am I crazy or WHAT? At which point I remembered when EarthDoctorSon was writing his college application essays. One particularly elegant piece of prose described his passion for soccer and why, despite 2 very serious concussions, a broken nose, surgery to repair a deviated septum, umpteen sprained ankles (which recently required a very delicate surgery), broken bones in his feet, and bruises -- to name a few -- he continued to play.

His explanation: joy and drive.

With him, I came to understand that when a person finds the sweet spot where body, mind, and soul converge, the person is simply so euphoric in that "zone," that it infuses every fiber of his or her being, taking over like a viral bodysnatcher. Such a person will find a way past any barrier to reach that zone again and again.

Hey! That's how I feel, too, I realized. And while I'm not an elite athlete, never will be, I have experienced that zone through mushing, through the fluid beauty of flying across wintry landscapes, deeply connected through joy with my canine companions. Yes, I'm definitely crazy. Crazy in love. Crazy in love with a pup who is maddeningly driven by an instinct that defies efforts to confine him. Crazy in love with a sport, that like many many others, can lead to injuries, injuries I'm willing to sustain but equally committed to preparing to the best of my abilities not to sustain.

Exhibit 1

When I got home from a lonnnng morning at the orthopedic clinic, I could hear the distinct wailing of Ginsberg. No biggie I thought. He always wails when he hears us come home.

But the wails were not at all typical. Actually, they were whimpers.

While I was away, Ginsberg, the 8-month-old escape artist Alaskan Husky pup, had begun to disassemble his crate, one heavy-gauge wire at a time. The thing looked like a mini tornado had passed through. Wires hanging all akimbo, whole quadrants missing, even a chewed up carabiner tossed a few feet away from the mangled crate on the floor.

He had managed to wedge his arrowhead-shaped skull into one of the smaller rectangular holes he'd created. There was no backing him out either. I checked the tightness and it wasn't compressing on his throat, but still, I tried to calm him down so he wouldn't doing anything else so nutty.

Charlotte, with her hot pink hopalong cast, and Cora, with her ever-present look of "If you don't take care of this, I will," hovered around nervously. I left him for a sec to find my puny jewelry wire cutters. But they didn't even make a scratch. So I called our friend Brian -- the one who Mr. B let in last Monday and forgot to lock the door when he closed it, the unfortunate omission that led to the Great Escape -- because Brian possesses every tool known to man. He came over in a jiff with the Mack Truck of wire cutters, and within minutes, unstuck Ginsberg.

Ginsberg, ever the resilient pup, blasted out, headed to the door, and clearly needed to do some business. But once back in, he was sniffing his mangled crate, sniffing Brian, and harrassing the girls, most definitely ready for the next adventure. Eerily, though, he watched with the attention of an apprentice as Brian attempted to reassemble the crate. I could swear Ginsberg was memorizing Steps 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 so that if he was put back in the crate, he'd reverse the order: Steps 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 BLAST OFF!!!

"Hmmmm . . the potted plant has possibilities."

It's times like these that I feel like
I'm living in an Indiana Jones film.

I e-mailed my friend Nancy about the day's events, and I think she captured the essence of my life these past 2 weeks in one sentence:

"You live a life of adventure without leaving the house!"

She's right. But I'd really like to take that adventure outdoors (in a truck), add some snow, hook up my exuberant Ginsberg, and bliss out together running along a beautiful forest trail. And by the looks of it, I am making fast enough progress to get to that point in as soon as 2 weeks.

But I guarantee you this. I will not ask: "What else could go wrong?"

And if you have any ideas on where to find a crate made of kryptonite (or titanium), I'm all ears!

*A very special shout out to my friend Terry who toted me to the clinic and waited around for hours.

Yours truly,

Kathleen Kimball-Baker
Manager, Disaster Recovery
The Accidental MicroKennel
Minneapolis, MN
Safe dog-sledding opportunities
available at your own risk®