2019, A Summary

I was about to entitle this post "a brief summary," but that is redundant.  And I am not going to bore you all with an introspective of this last year of a hectic decade!  We all know and feel the intensity.

This year I have been really fortunate to travel to places of immense beauty, immense quiet, and immense majesty, all of which remind me of the wonder of this planet.

 I will post my personal year in the pictures I have painted of my travels.  Given that I have painted these from photos I took, I cannot and have not, and will not paint everything.  These are but a few studies and I hope that I have done the places justice in my own small way.

Good health and good luck to all of you for the year to come.

A year of fire and ice!

I am here

Hi you all.  I am alive, just have not blogged as you may have noticed.

Promise to put up a post soon and in the meantime, be well and take care out there - it is INSANE!

Some Patagonian Scenery

This photo is a view from our hotel in Torres de Paine, in Chili

Views from Hotels

Above is the view from our Hotel in Bariloche - A view of Lake Nahual Huapei (I can NEVER pronounce it correctly.  An enormous lake with snow capped mountains in the distance.

 This is the view from our hostel in Ushuia,  in Tierra de Fuego - It is the end of the world!!!  We stayed here 4 nights - the first night we were not impressed.  By the end of our stay we declared we could stay here the rest of our lives!

The lovely garden in Hoteleria Paula in Trelew. A little town founded by Welsh immigrants!!!!!  Argentina has some surprises. This garden was fragrance filled, jasmine and honeysuckle, and full of birds and birdsong.

 Not a great view in Puertos Palos in Puerto Pyramides in Peninsula Valdez. Ricardo requested a room with an ocean view, this is what we got - the little place was lovely despite this view

The most unprepossesing of all - in Buenos Aires

Unfortunately I didn't take a photo from our room in El Calafete - a lovely garden.

Argentina

Yes, Argentina. This year I am visiting the southern hemisphere!

Whereas Namibia is a palette of clear deep blue skies, ochres, siennas, umbers, browns, Argentina - especially Patagonia is a palette of azure, turquoise, lapis, emerald, aquamarine, sparkling white - startling in its contrast.

This was a visit with my sister and brother-in-law that was supposed to have happened two years previously.  Life events postponed it, but we did it!  For me three jampacked weeks of non-stop activity.  Bariloche, el Calafete, Chile, Torres de Paine, Ushuia, Peninsula Valdez and Buenos Aires.

On buses, off buses, on katamarans, off katamarans, on boats, on rafts, on foot, up hills, down hills, up steps, down steps, on rocky footpaths, muddy paths, quaint cobbled streets of towns, stunning glacial lakes, waterfalls, craggy mountain peaks, stunning glaciers, condors, graceful huanocos, pellargic birds,  cormorants, a puma, flamingos, penguins, a fox, whales; southern right whales, humps of them, heaps of them - nursing mothers, randy males.  Springtime after all.  In Torres de Paine we experienced winds so fierce they actually knocked my sister down.  Quite shocking to witness.  Thank goodness no broken bones, a few bruises, grazes and an impressive scar down her nose!  Friendly people, wonderful knowledgable guides, fun fellow travelers, an uncrowded and unspoiled landscape, delicious seafood, meat, pastries, chocolates, malbec, mate, cerveza.

Buenos Aires that everyone had warned us was a filthy grafitti ridden place crawling with violent predators waiting to strip us of everything we had was gracious, old worldly, beautiful.  By contrast with San Francisco it seemed sparklingly clean with just a few not aggressive homeless.   We took a tour of the Teatro Colon and the Recoleta Cemetery, and strolled through the Caminito La Boca.  Of course we absolutely had to be on buses, so we took a two day hop on hop off bus ride.

And now it is over.  I am filled with gratitude that we had this wonderful, exhilarating experience.  I will publish this piece then eventually, hopefully work out how to upload photos.  It is a struggle each time. I have to learn this because it is very easy.  I will post the view from the window of each hotel we stayed in, then I will post other photos. The visual aspect is better for most of us, rather than reading, but as I personally still read, you will get both!

Subtle Signs

The sun sets a little earlier each day. The path outside my front door is carpeted in fading pink hibiscus flowers. I see humming birds dip their graceful curving finely pointed beaks into the feeder more frequently. The wind rustles through trees, and leaves begin to fall.  I feel a chill in the morning and evening. It has a different timbre to it from the chill of foggy summer mornings and evenings. I am knitting again.

The seasons are changing, and inevitably, I am reminded of the 6th of October 1973, when my life, and many countless lives, were changed forever.

A group of us were gathered on the lawn of the swimming pool. It was Yom Kipur, and on the kibbutz noone fasted. It was a beautiful cloudless Saturday.  The lawns were browning, autumn flowers had appeared.  And then, at two o-clock two mirage jets shrieked overhead.  "Strange," we observed, on Yom Kipur? And then David Solomon, on his bike, skidded to a stop alongside us. He held a transistor to his ear.  "There is a war," he said. "Israel has been attacked."

And so, on that lovely peaceful fall day everything changed.  And now for me, every time I experience the signs and changes that herald the fall, I also remember that day, that war, and how life changed.

More thoughts

My latest piece is this:

Sunset over the Etosha Pan

It is from a photo I took while at Onkoshi Lodge.

My art teacher heard me talking about the nightsky while I was in Namibia, which I wrote about in my previous blog, Random Thoughts on the Meaning of Home.  She saved an article from New York Times of August 18, 2019. entitled

In Search of the Night Sky

The writer, Kelsey Johnson, discusses the threats of light pollution, which are multifold, like all the environmental threats, and affect everything on this planet of ours, from the tiniest creatures at  the bottom of the food chain, and upward.  I was particularly struck by this paragraph.

"I think there is even an existential cost.  A dark night sky, unpolluted by artificial light and thousands of artificial satellites, serves as a visceral reminder that we are part of something unfathomably large, that our petty differences on this tiny speck of a planet are ultimately insignificant.  In the face of the
universe, human arrogance is absurd."

And then last night, before bed, I read this in Anam Cara by John O'Donohue

"The animals are more ancient than us.  They were here for millenia before humans surfaced on the earth.  Animals are our ancient brothers and sisters.  They enjoy a seamless presence - a lyrical unity with the earth.  Animals live outside in the wind, in the waters, in the mountains and in the clay. The knowing of the earth is in them...."



This is our birthright also, but we have lost our way

Inordinately Proud

It takes ridiculously small things to make me feel so very proud of myself.

Before work the other day I went for a latte in my neighborhood coffee spot. While waiting for the latte I dropped my car keys.  No big deal, I picked them up, paid for my coffee and went to the car. I discovered that all the little open door/pop trunk key symbols were gone. Shrugging I used the car key to open the door.  I noticed that the little symbols had somehow fallen on to the car floor. I picked them up and kept them together planning to fix the key at work. I tried, but the little sign thingies fell through their matching slots.  OK,  I thought, I will keep everything together, use the spare I had at home and take these to Toyota and get another key.

The next day I went to Toyota sales with the keys and thingies in a plastic bag.  The man behind the counter glared at me and said "what am I supposed to do with this?"  Taken aback I pulled myself together and politely inquired whether or not he was in sales. Then I told him I had dropped the keys.

"You don't have the .......... (something or other) he said.

I repeated that I had dropped the keys, this is what I had.

He looked at his computer screen, punched in something and said "It will cost you $320 for a new key.

I looked at him and left, I had no interest in any further communication.

This was Tuesday.  I used the spare key.

Thursday after yoga class I had a thought. I will go back to the coffee shop and ask them whether they had found the thingie, whatever the hell the thingie may be.

I went to the coffee shop where the young people behind the counter are quite delightful - nothing like the man in Toyota sales.  I greeted the young woman and asked whether they had found a thingie, and I held up my keys.  She opened a drawer and said, "this is full of lost things." She rummaged about for all of 10m seconds and held up something and said "I think this is what you want."

Thanking her profusely without getting down on my knees and genuflecting I dashed home and sat down with the new key and all the previous key parts.  I took the old key apart and painstakingly and carefully put back all the things I had found, following the symbols on the spare.  Then I stepped outside and pushed the open door symbol - Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, lo and behold, the door opened.

I fixed it and saved $320.00 - yahooooooooo

Random thoughts on the meaning of home

What is home? where is home?  where and how do I feel at home?

None of these thoughts are new for me. Indeed, I have been contemplating on them for as long as I can remember. Here are some recent ones since my return from Africa (southern africa) and earlier this year, from Israel.

I have now lived out of South Africa for far longer than I lived there. I have lived in America, California, for longer than I have lived anywhere else, and yet I have always experienced cultural dissonance.

The first night in Namibia I sat on a bench outside my room.  The moon was just a sliver.  All was quiet, other than the occasional rustles, and notes of night birds.  I was enveloped in the immense stillness of the bush. Overhead was the southern cross -  I gazed at the sky thick with blazes of green and orange, and effervescent trails of shooting stars.  The vastness of the milky way so clear and so deep. The more I looked, the more comfortable and the more settled I felt.  No words, no thoughts, just the caress of the gentle wind, and the quiet and the immensity of my surroundings.  The two pointers guided me to the southern cross, and due south. I was home again.  A feeling beyond words - just quiet, settled, deep.

In Israel, when I drive through Wadi Ara and the Jezreel Valley opens and unfolds, and I see Har Tabor I experience a similar feeling.

Is home a place? No, I don't think so.  In terms of South Africa it is a place where I feel immediately comfortable. Everyone sounds like me? No waiter ever looks at me in a strange manner when I request water. They know what I am asking for and bring it to me.  How comforting it is to order a toasted cheese and not to be questioned as to the type of cheese and bread I would prefer. We stop at robots and go up and down buildings in lifts. I feel that this is how things should be, and I like it.

And even though I grew up knowing I would leave because of the system of apartheid, and the discomfort and dis-ease I felt, it is where I was born and raised.

Israel is  home of a different kind. Possibly the most important events of my young adulthood happened there and they have kept me forever linked to the turbulent, lovely little country.

And now, here I am, and have been for a long time, in California.  I would not still be here if I did not feel a sense of well being.  The beauty of this area reminds me of South Africa and Israel.  I have worked in the east bay for a long while and have discovered much about the different people here. I like the diversity.

So --- these are random thoughts - no answers.  I will continue writing and thinking about them I am sure.

Flight to Namibia

The following events occurred between my departure on June 3 and my arrival in Windhoek on June 6.

My flight from San Francisco to Zurich was delayed by two hours. This was ok as I had less time to spend in Zurich airport - only 4 hours.

The 11 hour flight to Johannesburg was pleasant, as the plane was not full. I had an empty seat next to me, such a treat!!!!  A lovely young South African man sat behind me. He is studying economics in England so we chatted when we both were not sleeping.

I had a six hour layover in Johannesburg before my evening flight to Windhoek, so a friend picked me up at the airport and we drove to her luxurious new apartment in Houghton.  We drove through areas immediately familiar to me, Huddle Park, Edenvale, Sandringham, Louis Botha Avenue.  The roads and shops looked more third worldy than I had remembered. Streets and pavements were crowded with cars, white mini taxis, raggedy shop fronts with iron bars. Signs painted on the windows were much more 'african' than I remembered, colorful paintings of faces and names.  I noticed tables set up on the pavements covered with small bags of sweets, chips, etc. which hawkers were selling. On street corners hawkers held up brooms and beaded items.  At the traffic lights beggars came up to the car and some tried to spray the windows to clean them and get a few rand.

At her apartments I showered and nibbled on cheese and crackers. We caught up on gossip and then headed back to the airport. She had an unexpected meeting later so she had to bring me back earlier than initially planned.  This suited me as I would be well on time for the next leg of my flight to Windhoek.

I loaded my luggage on to a trolley, entered the airport and looked for the Air Namibia check in counter.  I pushed my trolley to the number assigned.  The number of the counter was lit up, only the name Air Namibia was not to be seen.  I asked someone standing there where it was. He pointed me in another direction further down the counters.  Off I went, but could not find it there either.  I returned to the first counter - again someone said they had seen it in the same direction as the previous man. He accompanied, but again, not to be found.

Eventually I saw a woman sitting in what looked like an office and I asked her for Air Namibia. She pointed me in another direction entirely. This time I did find an Air Namibia office, but the door was closed and no-one was inside. A semi official looking man sitting outside told me that the lady inside, she is in the bathroom.

As she did not appear to be in a hurry to return I decided to trudge a long distance until I found an information desk. I asked one of the woman sitting there whether I could sit in a lounge until the Air Namibia counter would reopen. She said I needed a boarding pass and I explained that I did not yet have one. She then asked for my flight number. She looked at a monitor at her desk and said to me, 'your flight is cancelled. There is no flight this evening."


WELCOME TO AFRICA

I stood there open-mouthed.  "I will come with you to the Air Namibia Office," she volunteered. "No one is there," I wailed. She escorted me and by now the Air Namibia representative, Nicolene Tehitja, had returned from the bathroom.

Apparently I was supposed to have been informed about the cancellation.  There was a flight the next day at 6.40 a.m.  All I knew was that someone called Johan was to meet me at the Wiindhoek airport that evening at 8.30.  I was exhausted, emotionally compromised, confused.

Air Namibia set me up in a hotel overnight. I emailed my agent in Namibia to let her know of the change, and I was shuttled off to the Birchwood Hotel.  Even getting there was not without many problems, but I did arrive at the hotel and had a glass of wine.  Reception informed me I was to leave the hotel at 4.30 in order to be at the aiport at 5.00 a.m.  I requested a wake up call at 4.15 a.m.  As usual, when I have to get up in the wee hours I awoke to check the time every 30 minutes.  By 3..30 I was ready and waiting in the cold, dark Johannesburg night. I was convinced I would not get my wake up call because I was now in Africa, and on African time.

At preciselly 4.15 a young man knocked at my door and took my case. So much for my misgivings.

Back at the airport, more trouble.  I landed up having to pay for a ticket for which I had paid several months before.  I was too exhausted to protest.

When the time came to handing in my passport and boarding pass, I begged the man at the counter not to give me any more trouble.  He scrutinised my passport and papers, looked at me solemnly, and said "I have to advise you ..... that this time everything in OK.  Have a safe trip."

Namibia

After we touched down we entered an unprepossessing room at Windhoek Airport. For some unkown reason all the travellers went to the right side of the room and were hunched over a counter. There were absolutely no signs and I saw three stone faced women sitting behind another counter just ahead of me.

They did not move and their faces were expressionless. I wondered whether they were african carvings. I went in their direction behind three young ladies who had been on the same plane. We walked through iron bars toward the three statues. When I approached one, her mouth moved and I  heard something like 'forms,' after I had asked her to repeat herself.  My mouth was dry, a combination of plane travel and a bone-dry atmosphere. I gazed at her out of my dry red eyes and managed to come out with "what forms?" Her gaze shifted to where everyone else was.  I walked over to see that everyone was filling in forms. I took one off a pile and looked for a pen. Someone handed me her pen and I filled in the form. I asked the woman who handed me her pen what the date was, as by this time I was unaware of what date, time, or day it was.

"The date of my wedding anniversary," she replied, "but my husband is dead."

Eventually I completed the form and took it to the queue which had now formed in front of the three statues.  I handed my passport and form to the statue on the right.  After reading through it she asked me where I would be spending my first night.  Again I tried to speak. Eventually the words came out "I don't know."  After staring at me wordlessly I gave her the name of the travel agency. Although she was apparently not quite satisfied, she let me through.

And so began my journey into the magical, primeval, awe-inspiring, vast, dusty, dry, wonderland - I will upload photos as words fail me.

Walrus

The time has come, the Walrus says, to speak of other things .............

So, I have been back in the US OF A for 3 weeks.  I have caught up with friends, with doctors visits, with trips to the gym.

And now I am off again - to Africa, the mother, my mother.

If my attempt to blog from Germany was unsuccessful, the same may prove on this next trip.

I am going to Namibia (Southwest Africa) for 12 nights, and then to Johannesburg, the city of my birth.

So I shall probably fill you in on my return, and hopefully there will also be photos

Au revoir, lehitraot, tot siens, auf wiedersehen

Adventures Continued

Here I sit, at my desk, back in the US of A, in the twilight zone of jetlag, caught between cultures, and on top of it, preparing for yet another adventure.  At the beginning of June I am off to Southwest, and Southern Africa!

My last week in Germany and Israel was super intense.  On the morning of Holocaust Memorial Day I took the train to the Grunewald Station, and went to Track 17.  This is in an elegant area of Berlin - beautiful homes and embassies are situated here.  It is from Track 17 that the Jews and other undesirables; Gypsies, homosexuals, were rounded up and put in cattle cars and sent to their final destination.  I find it difficult to put into words the feelings I experienced there. I met an Israeli couple, and we both just looked at each other and shrugged. She said a word in Hebrew to me 'hallucination.' That says it all.

Then I went to my nephew and his family. His daughters are in a "Wald Kindergarten." A forest kindergarten. That Friday night Spring was celebrated.  We all went to the lush and glowing green forest where the men brought in a maypole, and the women collected wildflowers and there was a symbolic wedding, and we danced around the maypole, all singing to the earth mother.  Another hallucination - I felt I was in a Midsummer Night's Dream.  Magical.

Then back to Israel to Memorial Day.  On the eve of Memorial Day we attended a collective ceremony in Hayarkon Garden in Tel Aviv.  Collective - the shared experience of Jews and Palestinians all caught in this web of sadness and pain, yet still daring to hope.

And the next day - on the kibbutz - our shared sorrow.  After the ceremony we (kibbutz members and friends) went to the home of a member. We sat outside on the balcony, under the shade of a plane tree, overlooking the Jezreel Valley.  A patchwork of greens, gold, platinum.  Mt. Tabor always there, always present.  And we spoke, each one of us, of how we first heard the news of our loved ones' deaths. We all remember each and every detail - and as we all said, the passage of time never eases our pain.  Somehow it seems to be more diffcult with each passing year, a bottomless pit of grief. But it felt very good to talk about it, and laugh, and to bask in the warmth of caring and love.

And life goes on - new adventures await.

note

Please note, the previous entry, although written on my first day in Berlin, was only published on May 11, as for some reason I could not publish it in Berlin.  My trip is now complete and I am back in the States. Soon I will publish further impressions of my trip in general.

Adventures

This morning I arrived in Berlin. This is my first visit here and I am now sitting in a Hotel room in the Hackescher Markt.

My Israeli nephew is doing a postdoc at the Max Planck Institute in Jena, in East Germany.  I had planned to visit him and his family during my trip to Israel. When we discussed dates, the best time for him is for me to come this Thursday, the 2nd of May. I looked at my calendar and saw it is Holocaust Memorial Day.

‘Nothing like coming directly to the source,” I said to him, rather grimly. It certainly has not escaped my attention that on this day I will be taking a train from Berlin to East Germany. On top of it I have to change trains in Erfurt, which is where the ovens for the gas chambers were made.

So here I sit in a cafe looking at the constant parade of people. It all feels so familiar. Why I wonder? Is it from the many movies and documentaries I have seen, or the fact that bauhaus architecture is very prevalent in Tel Aviv.  I walked around the area after I arrived because I always do that in a new city. I love to walk around feeling the energy of a city that is new to me.  The area in which I am situated was apparently a largely Jewish area before the war.  I am enjoying a Berliner Pilsener and digesting the sites I came across in my wanderings.

I walk into an interesting looking lane and there I find OttoWeidt's brush factory.  Otto Weidt, a non Jewish  man, employed Jews who were blind and deaf during the war. Of course this was forbidden. This incredible man and his wife and a few friends employed Jews and hid them during raids. They managed to do this for at least two years, until someone gave them away.  The factory is now a modest memorial. Everything is exactly as it was, the rooms, the workbenches, and the hiding places.

 I exit quite overwhelmed and stumble across the Anne Frank Centre in the very same alley.  It is a nonprofit association headquartered in Berlin and the German Partner of the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam.  The work they do there is really admirable. getting young people involved and countering anti-Semitism and racism.  I wish I could say, and so do they, I am sure, that their work is done.  Unfortunately it is not, and may never be.

Enough for a day, back to my hotel to rest and to contemplate.

Almost Off Again

Tomorrow I leave for Israel.

Post elections.  It should be interesting. That is one thing about Israel I can say for sure. It is never not interesting.

Today my sister sent me an article by David Grossman.  He is so articulate, intelligent, and sensitive. What struck me in particular, is that these are the same conclusions I have come to over the last few years, especially since our last election.

I paraphrase:

"There are moments in the life of a nation, or an individual, where one asks oneself - "how is this possible?" "How did this happen?" It is the same sense of horror and awe we have when there is a tsunami, or flood, or earthquake.  Acts of nature.  Possibly there are explanations, but at this moment we have none and we have to confront the reality of what has happened and come to terms with it.  We cannot control these things, what we can do is decide on our own course of action.

Every day one must ensure that one does not succumb to racism, power, narrow mindedness, exploitation and one must continue to believe, maybe with the innocence of a child, that there is hope for peace, and equality, and justice between nations. If my government or elected officials do not believe in, or practise these principles, I will continue to do so,  and I shall practise them in my own small way."


(with apologies to David Grossman whose article I have translated and summarised)

So it is with these thoughts and practises and a sense of excitement at seeing family and friends that I leave.

The Aftermath

Hopefully the end of this horrendous saga.

5 dead mice.  Not 3 blind mice.  5 dead mice.

10 days of no droppings,  no mice pee, no sounds of traps snapping shut.

However, I am not letting up my guard, not for one second.

I felt close to the edge of a psychotic break.  My nerves are slowly settling down, or whatever it is nerves do, but just one little cumin seed poop could send me hurtling over the abyss.

I know now not to waste any money on promises of peppermint oil (snake oil in disguise?) sonic sounds, blue lights.  Lethal, certain, and swift death comes via deadly traps.  Merciless, that is me.

And, on a different note, qe have been blessed with a full week of sun - quite glorious. The air sparkles, freshly rinsed and clean.  Tulips in the garden, lilies, orange poppies dancing in the breeze, and the sounds of sneezes and bird song fill the space around.

Here is my haiku to spring


carpets of blossoms
warm rays feathery carress
first hints of a sneeze


My first home was a cottage in Rockridge. I decided on it because, amongst other things,  it reminded me of my room on the kibbutz. Right outside my bedroom window was an olive tree.  In the spring lovely yellow flowers appeared.  Also, in the spring, I began to sneeze and splutter and cough. My eyes watered. I went for allergy testing and discovered that I am allergic to the blossoms of olive trees!!! Who would have thunk.

Every single year since I arrived in California an article appears in The Chronicle in March.  Here is a synopsis:

This year allergy season is exceptionally bad in the Bay Area because of:

the drought
too many rains
the fires
the winds which trap the pollen inland
whatever it may be, every spring is AWAYS the worst it has ever been

Major Freak Out

Oh Goodness, two mice dead - how many to go.

I feel just awful. After 6 weeks of sonic devices and humane traps and absolutely no outcome, I invested in a couple of inhumane traps.  After a few nights of droppings around the traps I was about to give up and get rid of all of them.  I mistakenly left one out that same night, and as I was falling asleep - whup, a lethal chop. I did not go to check on anything, I knew what it was and couldn't face it. The next morning I peeked between my fingers and yes - saw it all. Paper bags, rubber gloves, dry heaves, heavy waves of guilt and nausea overcame me, and the thing landed in the garbaage.  Now I have been wracked with guilt at taking a life, and no one is able to reassure me.  Yesterday I was conducting a skype consultation at 8.00 a.m. when, out of the corner of my eye a mouse ran into my study.   Sooooo, consultation with landlords, more money spent on traps, both lethal and 'humane' - traps set and early this morning - another one.  Goodness knows how many there are.  I am mostly allergic to cats and never know how allergic I am until I spend some time with them!

It has been pouring with rain and water has been coming into my  bedroom.  Ants are everywhere, I kind of feel like I am in a house of horrors.  As I have written about before, I do not peacefully coexist with all of God's little creatures.  I know on the evolutionary scale mice and ants are fairly mild, but obviously in my limbic system the fight or flight reaction is activated - I am no longer dealing with large predatory animals, but for me these smaller versions are not much different.

A Mouse?

I am also amazed by how my mind can trick me into conjuring up things which have no basis in the evidence before my eyes.

I live in the downstairs apartment of a house halfway up a hill. It is surrounded by nature - quite lovely. A drought resistant garden, boasting succulents and lavendar bushes.  A bamboo hedge on the kitchen side, and on the living room side a hibiscus tree,  shrubs, herbs, and succulents.  In summer I sit outside to admire the setting of the sun as it drops behind Mt. Tamalpais.  Stripes of crimson, fuschia, orange, and deep gold shimmer on the bay.  On the other side I sit on the patio and contemplate the humming birds flitting in and out of the hibiscus tree.

My microwave sits on a shelf near a water closet. In the space between are wooden chopping boards and a wooden tray. One evening when I moved the boards to take out the tray I saw cumin seed in the corner,  next to the water closet.  I do use cumin seed quite often, but hadn't used it recently. Also, there is no reason on earth that I would spread it in a corner.  But that is what I saw, so I cleaned the shelf and thought no more about this.  A couple of nights later, the same thing.  Hmm, I thought, interesting how the cumin seed must cling to the chopping boards and succumb to the laws of gravity overnight.  Again, I cleaned them up, and carried on with this ritual almost every morning.  Always more cumin seeds, and I hadn't used them the night before.  Fascinating.

My landlords  returned from one of their exotic vacations, and I was no longer alone.  This allowed me to consider the fact that these were probably not cumin seeds.

I emailed an SOS and down came the landlord to check. I showed him the seeds and he confirmed my buried suspicion - mouse droppings.   Mice freak me out - they feel to me like creatures of the underworld, deeply disturbing. I went off to ACE Hardware and invested in a couple of humane traps. My landlords assured me they would take the trapped m;ouse away and let him go in a field far away.

According to instructions I placed a blob of organic crunchy peanut butter in the trap. (The instructions did not call for organic peanut butter, but I was quite pleased with my largesse.)  The next morning i checked the trap;   droppings,  no mouse. And the next morning.  The morning after that, neither droppings nor mouse. The rains had stopped so I presumed the mouse had left for outside.  After a week of neither droppings nor mouse I replaced the boards.  The next morning, droppings, but no mouse.

I am bamboozled. Does anyone know why a mouse (or mice) favor wooden boards?  I am not sure if I can cohabit with this creature.  Where is the Pied Piper when I need him.

Advice - help

As we are now

And then there is the one about the middle aged Jewish man who would like to live forever.  He asks his Rabbi if he can give him the secret to eternal life. The Rabbi thinks for a while, scratches his beard and looks at the earnest man seated in front of him.

"Yes," says the Rabbi. "Go home and read the news everyday."

The man looks at the Rabbi with raised eyebrows. "OK," he says, "I'll do that, but how will this help me live forever?"

Clearing his throat the Rabbi says, "it will cure you of your desire to live forever."

I have no desire to live forever.  What I would like is to live a somewhat peaceful life, free of constant negativity and concern.  This desire is increasingly difficult.

I have stopped listening to the constant bombardment of news items. I have never had alerts on my phone. I don't watch talk shows with their endless discussions of who said what, and what the latest polls indicate.

When reading the newspapers (which I still do) I try to look for small glimmers of hope.  The Monarch butterflies have returned to Mexico in their hundreds of thousands.  First I read this in the paper, and then, the same day, listened to an interview with an environmental scientist. Yes, they have returned this year, but no, in fact it is not a glimmer of hope - and then he went on and on about the degradation of the environment, the pesticides, the fact that although concerned citizens in the US and Canada are growing milkweed it is not nourishing like it used to be .....  lets not be overjoyed at this bountiful return this year.

Then, later the same day a talk on the coral reefs.  Oh my goodness - by the year 2050 there will no longer be coral reefs, no species of fish, no this, no that - all caused by climate change ....

I have beautiful vivid recollections of snorkeling in he reefs in the Sinai desert - a surreal and glorious insane artist's rendition ...

The elephants, the giraffe ........

And this all in one day of not really listening with attention.

Oh, test tube fetuses - how could I forget that tidbit!

This isn't even broaching the ghastly political climate - Government shutdowns, an insane President raving about walls and drugs and terrorists, and fake news, and how scientists don't know what they are talking about ......

I work a couple of days a week in a really lovely woman-owned boutique surrounded by luxurious textiles, hand blocked fabrics, unique garments which are not made in a sweatshop.  I go to the gym, and to art classes.  I participate in a writing group, and an enneagram group.  All these activities enrich my life.   And yet, yesterday after yoga I sat on the bench putting on shoes after class. Someone I haven't seen in years sits next to me and groans as he bends his leg to put on his shoes.   I jokingly commented on how our bodies are now protesting smaller amounts of exercise.

"Courage," he says to me, "it is only going to get worse."

Today at the gym I met two women I haven't seen in a while.

"How are you," "good" we all reply, then comes the qualifications.  "As good as can be expected with this ......... and on we all go about all the 'unbelievable' that is believably happening.

So this is a brief summary of my life as it is!

And here is my latest piece, in oils.  It is from a photo I took in Carson City in summer of 2017.