Well look what I found, today, my long abandoned blog site! Nothing ever disappears on the web. maybe I will start posting again, who knows? I could use some good self talk these days. A lot has changed since 2009: we sold the place at the river, my mother died, some of our kids moved closer to Michigan. We got older. Rich and I creak a bit, and sleep more. We are at the three-quarters of a century mark and beginning to realize we're encountering more limitations. (Part of the reason we sold the cottage on its steep bluff above the river)
I am surprised I'll be 75 next year. Surprised my children are near 50! How did that happen? My beloved aunt, 102, died this year. My father, 99 didn't. He is a miracle of tenacity and will. The year was hard for him, with injuries and changes and new limitations, and I am old enough to see my future (if I should survive that long) in his curved spine, his spongy bones, his legs that just won't carry him. Am I frightened for him--or for me? Both, I guess. He presses on.
When you have had a parent around for 74 years you grow pretty accustomed to their being a part of the world you know. A world without them in it is unimaginable. That may be so between all parents and their kids, however old we are. I don't know. I wonder  if I am especially blind to reality.
My parents lost their parents before they reached their seventies. I have friends and family who lost their parents at young or middle ages. I wonder if, losing a parent at a young age, you grow up faster and take on more responsibility. No longer a parent to turn to for support or approval. After Dad is gone there will only be one person who has known me all my life. My sister. If she has ever known me. We are not particularly close. Still, we've drawn closer as our father gets older. As if we needed to hold hands, face what's coming together. We'll need each other.

Reading

Sunday, October 11, 2009
People's Church, Kalamazoo, MI
10:oo am Forum

Anne Hutchinson and friends
(Elaine Seaman, Lynn Pattison, Marion Boyer)

Poetry on themes of: Family, Loss Persona, and Nature.

Join us.

Summer has been a swirl of activity: family reunion, children visiting, a great writing class with Di Seuss, time at the river, a wonderful group reading in honor of Marion Boyer's new book (biggest crowd for poetry in a long time). We've been driving up and down I-75 more times than I care to recall--the schedule hasn't been easy. I am spending the week here alone, trying, among other things, to produce a clean, finished copy of my new mss. So far the rickety printer has been cooperating.
Anne-Marie arrived in less than two weeks!

During our visit to Seattle we took the opportunity to go for a walk in a local, Sound-side park. Heading down a trail to our car, after giving Anne's dog, Archie, a grand outing, we saw something glittering around and beneath a car in the parking lot below. A closer look revealed a huge accumulation of pop/beer cans on the tarmac, being run over by an old Dodge Dart, or something like...

Back and forth, back and forth, flattening the cans. It was not efficient, it looked like it would take forever. We agreed the object must be selling scrap. But the most perplexing question was how did all those cans get there---it certainly didn't look like they could have all fit in the Dart. I mean there was a small lake of them. All day we argued about whether the cans had got there in the Dart. My (minority) opinion was that they had, that only the ones in the front, by the driver, were in bags, and that the others were loose, under the seats, snugged in layers on the deck of the back window, tucked into the spaces between door latch and door, crimped and pushed into glove box and console, stacked carefully, seat-high, all the way round, just enough room for the driver to work his pedals. And the trunk, of course. I knew it would have to be done skillfully, the modern day version of building the load on the hay wagon. No one agreed.
Mainly, though it was just that we couldn't get that momentary image, of the driver rolling over the carpet of cans, out of our minds. We told everyone we saw.

Mt. lion in the morning through one-way window. Desert Museum. We photographed early, before the animals got sick of people and tucked in for naps. I took coyote, wolves, and a couple of great raptor shots.

A display of beads at the giant international gem show---Tucson.


door to our room in Tubac. Great little porch. Rich so wanted to sit out there and drink his morning coffee. But it wasn't gonna happen, temps hovered around 35- 40 all the time we were there. his consolation, building fires in the chiminea(?) out in the garden and watching the stars. Big sky--no street lights.

Great American Train Adventure

Rich and I are just back from our version of the GATA, having spent 6 weeks "on the rails." Well, really, we only spent 10 or so days on the actual rails, the rest of the time was spent visiting friends and relatives in the SW & PNW. We had a grand time, both at our various destinations and in our tiny Deluxe Room on the train. (Deluxe refers to the tiny self-contained potty and shower chamber that sticks out into the small bedroom. There was also a mini-sink, where washing of faces and brushing of teeth proved to be both challenging and hilarious.) I became quite adept at showering while rocking and swaying inside a phonebooth sized compartment.

We traveled from Chicago to Tucson,(where we stayed with friends, then moved to Tubac for a week in a B&B, and on to Green Valley for a couple of days). Boarded the train at 4 in the morning (we owe Ione and Rob much, and many thanks, for driving us to the RR station in the middle of the night) for stays in Los Angeles, Oakland, Bodega Bay, and finally, Seattle. We enjoyed a variety of great hikes, readings, parties, beaches, cave explorations, botanical gardens, zoos, and even, one night, a hockey game.

Now to rest up. More to follow.