The Joy Of Sects

Today has been a most extraordinary day. A day vibrating with religious and spiritual moment. Apparently, and unbeknownst to me, it is 'recruitment day' in rural Maine. Between the hours of 1 pm and 3 pm my little porch was descended upon by representatives of the LDS church, the Seventh Day Adventists, and Jehovah's Witnesses. They hit the neighbourhood at staggered times but converged en masse all at once--no more than 5 minutes apart--on my porch.

As a not-ready-for-prime-time-Christianity person, recovering Catholic with Buddhist/Celtic sympathies it was a remarkable meeting of dogma, theology, spin, and interpretation. One might expect it to have been an uncomfortable tension-fest. One would be mistaken. Everyone was amused at the coincidence, everyone partook of lemonade, decaffeinated green tea, and peanut butter fudge. And the best part--people addressed their biases and prejudices about each other's religious beliefs! Openly and genuinely sharing their stories and journeys. When everyone was gone I couldn't help but think that this was probably the best grass-roots ecumenical convocation ever! At one point my mother joined the group and was graciousness personified. She listened patiently and asked thoughtful questions. In the end she simply said: "I don't understand everything you believe or why you believe it, but, in the end, it's all about loving each other and respecting one another's humanity". I was so proud of her.

Tonight on the evening news I heard that the Pope is making a papal visit to the United Kingdom--the first ever. Beginning in Scotland (John Knox will spin in his grave) and then down into England. As titular head of the Anglican Church Queen Elizabeth II will meet and welcome him. I guess having two huge asteroids pass so close to the Earth kinda inspired some good-neighbour policy. I hope there'll be a whole lot of collared women of the Anglican and Episcopal church in attendance when His Holiness meets the Queen. You know, just to kinda nudge his consciousness in regard to the vital role of Women in the spiritual realm. I'd really be disappointed if all he saw were Religious in habits thus reinforcing that antediluvian belief of where a womans' place is.

I hope a higher power is showering all my Gentle Readers with openness and freedom of expression.

The Approach Of The Snow People

Ah, September! The promise of Autumn and all it's golden charms. My Gentle Readers may have noticed that I have been somewhat absent from the blogosphere of late. Fear not! I have not succumbed to illness or lethargy. It appears that I had forgotten a long-standing ritual that occurs annualy here in Maine and probably throughout most of the upper regions of the Northern Hemisphere. It's commonly called 'bundling season'. I was 18 when I left Maine for points south so I was never initiated into the practice. When I returned here last spring I was too preoccupied with chaos for several months that followed to take any notice of the tell-tale signs. I have had a pleasantly surprising introduction to the concept.

Bundling Season begins in mid-August and is primarily an exercise in compatibility. It's Maine's virtual version of eharmony. I have become a 'person of interest' to three candidates. I would like to say that I'm an object of desire but that wouldn't be accurate. Desire in most cases is devoid of practicality. Bundling is all about pragmatism. It isn't about passion; it's about snow shovelling and wood chopping. It's about companionship when you're snowed in and run the risk of cabin fever. It's about someone bringing you the chicken soup and Robitussin when you're down with the flu. It's endless games of Scrabble, chess, and gin rummy. Bundling is semi-hibernation with co-dependance. When the snow melts in April so does the bundling. You have survived the long, dark, cold days on the tundra and it's time to go out in search of berries and fresh air.

This is not to say that there isn't passion and desire involved. It just has a different priority status than it has in Summer. I am a triple threat and I am enjoying the attention. I am not dim-witted or hard on the eyes. I am a decent cook. AND, perhaps most importantly, I am fluent in both silence and conversation. This last is a major quality during Bundling Season. I know when to leave someone alone and when to engage them. I know how to pamper and how to leave-be.

I can't say how all this will turn out. I'm not particularly interested in a bundling partner. However, I'm not averse to the idea either. Could be fun or it could just be more of what I already have now. In the meantime I'm just enjoying the proverbial hunting expedition around the proverbial bush. The snowshoes are primed and waxed, the shovel is clean, and the axe is sharp. I'm good to go. The scented massage oil and Twister game are stowed where they can be easily retrieved. I'm prepared for any contingency. It's the Maine way.

Thank You, Jimmy Buffett

It's been over a year now that I left the subtropics for the subarctic. I can't help, occasionally, to ponder on all the 'who's' and 'what's' I left behind in the Lone Star State. It was an easy decision to return to Maine where I was needed. It was a heart-breaking process to say good-bye to my home and 'family' of 26 years.

In the true American spirit concerning converting lemons into lemonade I want to share with y'all the priceless gifts Maine has laid at my feet. According to statistics, Maine is the most forested state in the U.S. so I am always surrounded by green--which happens to be my favourite colour. It is deafeningly quiet so hearing myself think is never a problem. The over-all population is just over a million people and they are concentrated to the south of where I live. (Remember, Maine is roughly the size of Arkansas.) There were more cars in Houston than there are people in Maine. I can, if I choose, go days without encountering another human being--or a car. Every night and early morning in the non-snowy months there is a Wagnerian chorus of bullfrogs and crickets to entertain me. The days are filled with bird-song sonatas. In Texas I was serenaded by sirens, trains, car horns, and landing jets. I sleep on bed linens that have wafted dry in the pine scented open air--with no complaints from the neighbours. Did I mention that my nearest neighbours are deer, raccoons, red squirrels, the occasional moose, and elusive bob cats? Black bears and coyotes come to call after the snow has fallen but they're fairly respectful of my space. There are the rolling jagged peaks of the upper Appalachians everywhere I turn instead of miles and acres of asphalt and concrete. Every clear night is an astronomer's dream. I had forgotten there was more up there besides the Moon, Venus, and airplanes. I used to take all this grandeur for granted. Shame on me! But I suspect that the residents of Eden took it for granted until they had something else to compare it to.

Life is a mysterious and comical journey. I moved to Texas (Galveston Island) with two suitcases and being acquainted with only a couple of people who fell by the wayside soon after arrival. By the time I left Houston two and a half decades later I had a jumbo moving van filled to capacity and a 'family' of friends that gave tangible poignancy to departure. All but a handful of my 'children' were from somewhere other than Texas. Illinois, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, New York, Louisiana, Canada, India, Nebraska, Great Britain, and Michigan were their points of origin but they all converged seamlessly around my kitchen table. They were and are my crazy quilt of warmth and affection. How often I have gathered them up and wrapped them close about me when Maine hasn't been able to comfort me in the chilly darkness of my isolation. Come to think of it, all my ex-es live in Texas but none of them were from there. Texas gave me everything a person could want and need from life. Maine is teaching me to appreciate it. I am a happy camper.

So thank you, Jimmy Buffett, for those prophetic words that come back to me when I walk through the trees in search of the forest:

"It's those changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes-
nothing remains quite the same;
With all of our running and all of our cunning,
if we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.

These changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes-
nothing remains quite the same;
Through all of the islands and all of the highlands
if we couldn't laugh we would all go insane."

Here's hoping that all my Gentle Readers find a good, hearty laugh just around the corner!

Torches And Pitchforks Not Required

Listen. my children, no need to mourn,
Or be downcast or feel forlorn.
The time has come to blow the horn!
And meet the returning Lord Wellbourne!

My apologies to anyone who has ever, remotely, enjoyed poetry.

I would like to say that I've been circumnavigating the planet in search of adventure and cheap thrills. I'd like to say that but I can't. More's the pity.

Several weeks back, while my mother and I were enjoying the company of our neighbours around a delightful dancing fire in our outdoor fireplace, we received a phone call from my sister-in-law announcing their annual visit. Upon ending the conversation and putting down the phone my mother began listing all that would need to be accomplished before this blessed event came to pass. The Normandy Invasion had fewer objectives.

Until they arrived this past Saturday evening, I was giving serious thought to turning this house and grounds over to a research facility or at the very least to anyone in need of space with an immaculate, quasi-sterile environment. I have washed thirty-five windows--inside and out--which, as far as I'm concerned, means I washed 70 windows. As well as the standard vacuuming and dusting every conceivable nook and cranny, I steam-cleaned every carpet, rug, and square inch of upholstery. I stripped and waxed all tile and hardwood surfaces. About an acre. All mattresses were turned and disinfected, all linens were washed and hung outside to dry and air. Fresh flowers cut and arranged. All the grounds mowed, raked, weeded, edged, and manicured, lawn furniture scrubbed, trees pruned. The house exterior itself was power-washed to remove cobwebs, wasp nests, and any residue deemed 'unworthy'. All walls and ceilings were wiped down and all draperies changed out. The fur-children were not exempted from this orgy of grime-icide. Each had to be brushed three times a day rather than the usual twice-daily regimen. Baths, new flea collars, and pedicures. I utterly refused to sweep the driveway or dust the rafters in the garage. Somehow, the logic of eradicating pine needles in the drive or dust bunnies 20 feet up over the car's bedroom escaped me. I just couldn't wrap my mind around how this would enhance their vacation. I blame this temporary lapse in understanding and anarchy on the oven cleaner fumes. Or was it Lysol?

The visit, which concluded today at 2 pm, was very successful and pleasant all things considered. It was, miraculously, free of drama and distemper. My mother gave me full credit and *gasp* praise for all my efforts (even though "I'd let her down with the rafters").

I was charming, gracious, witty, even generous. I was so mellow on the herbal infusions I made up of chamomile, Valerian, lime flower, primrose leaves, lavender, and a wee bit of basil from my paternal grandmother's ancient and ever-thriving medicinal/kitchen/spell garden. I'm going to bottle this stuff. I've been experimenting with the combination when I wasn't plotting She-Who-Should-Be-Euthanized's demise. There were heart-felt regrets at parting and all ended well and drifted off into gauzy memory.

So, Dear Hearts, I am at liberty once again to walk amongst the warrens of dust bunnies when they inevitably reappear. The kitties are tentatively emerging from their places of self-imposed exile and soon all will be as it was. I plan to keep the jug o'happy juice close at hand. And I earnestly promise not to go away for so long without so much as a "Save Me!" shout-out to you.