Some Joy

 In these waning days of 2021 (am I REALLY writing this already) when everyone I know, myself included, are just sort of 'mmeehh' - neither good nor bad, neither depressed nor joyful, neither cold nor warm, neither utterly despairing nor hopeful, all just teetering along, taking each day as it comes - nay, each moment as it comes, when something really heartwarming happened.

A couple of cold and - thankfully rainy - afternoons ago, I sat at my kitchen/art table, laboriously mixing paints alongside the specified munsell chips.  My phone rang - again.  It never rings until the moment when I can't really answer. Already that afternoon I had got up several times to peer at the names appearing on my phone.  Not easy to see the names, of course, but when I did discern them I didn't pick up the receiver. It rang yet again and I went into my darkening office/yoga studio/spare room and peered at the name.  To my surprise a name from the past appeared.  It was the grandmother of a little girl I had worked with at least 13 years ago.  

 Smiling I picked up the receiver.  

This was a family I loved.  The very first time I went to evaluate the little girl she sat in a high chair banging her spoon, drooling profusely.  She had large black eyes and a shock of braids with different colored barrettes.- She took one look at me as I walked in and sat at the table, and she began to laugh.  Apparently I was the funniest thing she had ever seen.  She laughed and drooled and chuckled. Her grandmother was mortified, but that little girl's laugh was so contagious that she had set me off as well.  And so began our love affair.

She and her twin brother were born at seven months on the streets of Fresno to a homeless, addicted mother.  They were placed in foster care. The mother died, and the twin brother died also.  Somehow the system tracked down her grandparents who lived in Richmond. They drove to Fresno and brought her home.  It was quite obvious she had cerebral palsy, and so I began to see her from when she was 10 months old until she turned three.  

This was during the great recession.  The grandparents lost their home. They both worked, then grandfather lost his job.  Grandmom's job was not nearly enough to support a family, but somehow, with faith,  they carried on.  The little girl never quite got over her mirth whenever I was there, but we managed to play and to work between bouts of laughter.   She tried so hard to sit, to stand, to chew, to modulate her facial movements, to coordinate her limbs.  It was for me another case of an environment in which the love was so thick and palpable it felt as if everyone was held, warm and upright.

The years passed, Granddad got his job back, they found a decent place to rent, they supported their granddaughter. She was going to school - she had botox injected to relax her muscles so she could stand and learn to walk, with the use of a walker.  Eventually she had surgery.  

After she turned three I no longer went there, but we kept in touch, and then I 'retired' (was retired) and that was 5 years ago. And now, on this gloomy day Grandmom called.  What joy - we caught up and then I spoke to the no longer little girl, a teenager.  She sounded incredible - she's in school and planning for college -  I told grandmom how her call made me feel so grateful, and warm, and joyous, and she said - "Nesta - you were there for us through everything. We love you."

What more could I want?   

And Now?

 Eye surgery is over.  Done. Completed. Finished. 

I now can see - After all I have endured concerning my eyes I lost sight (forgive the pun) that the reason for these procedures is to restore my sight. Suddenly I see the word in sharp focus, like 3-D vision. The white walls in my apartment are blindingly white - I had no idea.  The sunsets which are always spectacular are out of this world glorious.  Of course glimpsing myself in the mirror is quite revelatory as well, to say the least.  I said to a friend that this is like painting a wall in your home, or getting a new sofa,  suddenly the entire home has to be redone!  

Deep gratitude for this outcome and for the wonders of modern medicine.

It will be interesting to see how this affects my painting.  In the meantime my teacher in England has covid and is on a break, and my teacher around the corner has vertebral fractures and is on a break.  Because of my eyes I was on a break - but today I have determined to begin.  I also determined to blog - briefly.  

So this is brief but grateful update.

Photos of the Gone Art

 

Obliteration

 One of the surprise benefits of this new pandemic era for me has been participation in an online art class with a teacher based in the lovely Cotswolds.  Since last year I have attended his various courses, and am learning all about value, hue, and chroma.  I had no idea what these words really meant, in fact, I must admit, I still don't, although goodness knows I am trying to learn about this.

 I have invested in 8 x 10 ampersand panels, many many brushes, and oil paints.  This is not a cheap endeavour, but it is worthwhile, I think.  I have learned a lot, and have almost completed two years of studies. How is that possible? Just another aspect of my new and different relationship with time.  For me time has condensed and expanded and zigzagged back and forth and made circles around itself.

Today my other art class was cancelled as my teacher has hurt her back.  I didn't want to comfort her by letting her know that Queen Elizabeth has also sprained her back, so actually she is in illustrious company. This unexpected reprieve led me to my favorite activity - cleaning, tidying, condensing.

I went through a box of last year's paintings - autumn fruits, Austen roses, Spring daffodils, panels upon panels.  I laid them out on the concrete outside my back door - and wham, obliterated the lot.  I applied a layer of thick white oil ground.  They look like snow has fallen and covered them all, and there they will lie in hibernation, ready to be rebirthed on future courses.

For me it is a feeling of joy - like Navajo Sand paintings and intricate Tibetan Sand Mandalas that vanish, the impermanence of everything.

Obliteration and liberation!

New

 Well, two really exciting things have happened over the past two days - 

At last I have a date for my second cataract surgery - November 22nd.  Ever since the first surgery in April I have known that my second eye will be operated on - but there has been a backlog of people needing eye operations of all sorts.  Everything has been backlogged - from the availability of trekking poles to eye surgeries.  When my doctor told me she first had to operate on those people in danger of losing their sight, I graciously nodded.   So I am thankful the wait is over.  This must mean that sight has been restored to many and now my eye will be operated on.

The other thing that is really exciting is that the 8th season of Seaside Hotel is now available for streaming.  I am delightedly watching.

I also had a revelation of sorts - I believe I blogged last year about my reduced vocabulary. - In 2020 my wise comments and observations had been reduced to two words - unbelievable and horrendous.  Over the last month or so I noticed that my vast vocabulary has changed.  This year my trove of words and accumulated knowledge is now down to "whatever" and "I don't know."

Ah - such is the value of age and wisdom.

Refreshed

 I have been feeling somewhat blah - best description I can come up with it.  Not depressed, I go through  the motions of yoga, spanish, art, seeing friends, walking, reading - but just blah. 

Yesterday dawned no different, but sometime during the morning when pondering on which walk to take I decided to get in the car and drive to the Bay Trail - Pt. Isabel.   In recent months it has been unusually windy along the trail. A strong wind blows in from the bay whipping my hair all around and causing havoc to my eyes. To such an extent that it is downright unpleasant and I wear a 'covid' shield to protect my eyes, but the shield by now is cloudy so I don't really look anywhere but down on my feet.

Yesterday proved to be a Goldilocks day - a gentle breeze, fresh smelling clean (green light) air, not too hot, not too cold, conditions were just right.  I even found a parking space in the Rydin Street lot. I preceded down the trail along the shorefront.  The egrets stood sentinel in the marshes.  Just occasional hikers, hardly any bikers.  The tide was out, the mudflats displaying the reason for their name.  Shorebirds pecked around the edges and downtown Oakland and the Bay Bridge stood silhouetted against the sun - a lovely frame for the bay.  The sun glinted, sparkled, twinkled, reflected, mirrored, on the furrowed waves - lighting one, then another, as the water of the bay undulated. An occasional pelican flew and swooped, an egret raised its magnificent span and flew just over the lagoon.  The reeds and the grasses rustled drily.  Indeed all is dry - even the air. 

Further along as the path curves around the houses of the Marina Bay I saw the Golden Gate Bridge stretching from San Francisco to the gentle slopes of the Marin Headlands.  Mt. Tam lounging in the sun. A gentle lap of water breaking along the shore, a few sailboats, just one windsurfer, and the path turns again to the Richmond Marina.  

A picture perfect, gentle day.  The pause that refreshes.  

Thanks to the beauty which surrounds us.

 

A Memorial

 This morning I drove a formerly well traveled route.  I attended a memorial at Fuller Funeral Home on Cutting Boulevard in Richmond. This time the memorial was for the grandmother of one of the micro-premie girls I worked with. Her mother dropped her off at her mother's home in San Pablo before she went to work.  Those were the good days before the draconian cuts began, so I would see the girl at her grandmom three times a week.  The girl was a micro premie - born just on the edge of being viable. Her first two months were in the NICU and she was referred to me with a page full of all the complications of extreme prematurity. In addition to everything else, while in the NICU she had ripped out the tubes from her nose and mouth and so had two scars down either side of her tiny face.  She was born a fighter - which is why she survived. African American girls are the strongest survivors of premature birth.  I think this is genetic - they come from generations of survivors.  it was quite obvious her grandmother was such a woman. When I met her she was retired from her 40 years of work as a social worker.  She was a big woman - very big, both in stature and her bearing.  As big as she was, her heart was just as big; open and welcoming. Which is why I attended her memorial today - I have remained in touch with this family every since I began to work with them.  I was there to pay my respects, to her family, and of course to her.

I called the funeral home beforehand to ask about Covid precautions. They told me everyone had to wear masks and we would be seated appropriately socially distanced. At this time the delta mutation is raging, and I know that not everyone there has been vaccinated. Nevertheless, I decided to attend, and I am very pleased I did.  I suppose I will know soon enough whether I have been infected. It is hard to keep on a mask while sobbing, which most people were doing - especially the men, it seemed.  

This woman had 4 children, 16 children, 18 great grandchildren and a host of relatives both on her side and her husband's side. I met many of them over the years - at funerals, weddings, graduations, and family get togethers. Today was a gathering of people on walkers, robust and healthy people, children - a bustle of braids and barrettes and eyelashes and red and black clothing.  The pastor, a family member, spoke of the love,  the need for family to help each other - he preached, he sang, he spoke, he berated the congregation, and they murmured and answered in assent, and raised their hands, and swayed to the music. 

Then came the viewing and the final farewells. Thank goodness I have seen this before, because the first time I attended a Baptist funeral I almost fainted. I was ushered up to the casket and I sort of looked sideways at this doll that didn't resemble the woman, and put my hands to my heart, and left. 

This was the second time this week of being together with congregations, mourning, and celebrating life.

Yom Kipur

 This must be the first Yom Kipur I have experienced that is NOT intolerably hot.  In fact it is downright chilly, and this morning at home for zoom services I turned up the heat.   As I have written before, wherever I am in the world, Yom Kipur is always a scorching day.  I almost wonder whether there is any special meaning behind today.

Yom Kipur for me is the day I made a strange uneven pact with God. I entered into the pact on October 6, 1973.  The war began in Israel at 2.00 p.m.  on Yom Kipur.That was for all of us alive at that time, the day that forever changed our lives.

 In South Africa I fasted on Yom Kipur,  somehow it was sort of exciting, it felt a bit like a challenge, who could fast the longest! Then one year, when I was about 17 years old.  I remember going to synagogue and seeing a vicious, nasty, teacher of mine go up to the bimah and bow before the Ark.   His utter hypocrisy made me think about the meaning of religion and rituals.  I seriously questioned the sincerity behind these rituals when the person who carries them out with such pomp and ceremony is an evil being.  That day I decided from then on I would try to be a good person without religious trappings. I discussed this with my father. I informed him that I would no longer fast. He understood what I was saying. However I continued attending synagogue on the high holidays because it gave me a sense of belonging in South Africa. And, despite my protests, I fasted anyway.

My first Yom Kipur on kibbutz was, to my astonishment, a non event.  No one fasted, everyone worked, as if it were like any other day.  No one even seemed to know that it was a holy day.  Outside of kibbutz Yom Kipur was the only completely quiet day in Israel.  No buses, no cars, nothing. My second Yom Kipur on Ein Dor began in the same non manner, except that this year it began on a Friday night. I attended the disco after dinner , excitedly planned a party for when my husband was to finishe his army service the next week. I had thought he might be back this weekend, but he didn't get leave, so for sure he would be back the following weekend.

Saturday a group of friends sat at the pool,  an entanglement of bodies, slick with water and suntan lotion (NOT SPF),. We made plans for the upcoming event,  spoke of ordinary things, and then came the war.  As I walked back to my room my mind a jumble, my thoughts  turned to God. I asked him (of course he was a him) that if he spared my husband I would begin to fast again   Well, he wasn't saved, but ever since, I have fasted. That is why I call it my uneven pact.  Uneven, but unbroken. And over the many years, I have come to deeply honour and cherish this day.  It is a special day set aside to go deep within, and to be present with something that is greater than us.  And now, the second year of the pandemic, it feels even more important to me. As a congregant leader said this morning, on Zoom, (attended by 390 people ) "we feel you, we see you, we know you are with us.

And so I fast, alone, together with millions of people, and I am comforted.

5782

 Another year has begun, another year has gone. The cycle continues.

Another year in the presence of covid, BUT different from last year. This time we are able to celebrate in the presence of friends and family.  For this I am grateful. 

My wonderful nephew came to visit for a few days.  He really is a special soul.  My hope for the world lies with the young people.  For them I am grateful. 

The ocean, the sunsets, the hibiscus tree, the humming birds, the days of clean air which appear from time to time, despite the fires.  For all of these I am grateful.

And for the new year, I hope for more of the same.  I know now that this is no utopia.  I also hope that many people are looking within in this time of profound change, and looking to find what is really of importance in our individual lives, and in the life of the collective.

My hope is that we can all continue to evolve and change, and to hope.

Now Normal

 Here we are - the air is still and oppressive - it is hot.  When I look at the sunsets the sun is briefly blood red, then swiftly vanishes and all is a hazy wash of grey-ish pink-ish mauve-ish pastels.  

Tiny particles of ash cover everything like a blanket of snow. My eyes sting, I cough.

I sit inside, my air purifier sighs in the background, a diffuser emits a fine mist of eucalyptus, silver fir, peppermint, lemon eucalyptus supposedly cleansing the purified air.

This is now the 4th year of California summers, each year the season of smoke and fires begins earlier than the previous year.  Each year has me more prepared - I have the diffusers and purifiers on hand now. This is the second year of the pandemic.  Unfortunately the masks for fires are not allowed outside for pandemics.  

One copes, does what one must, this is now normal.

My Latest

 Here's my latest piece of art.

Here We Are

 Strange title, but no stranger than our present times.  

Since my last post I went on a small adventure.  A dear friend who lives on the East Coast sent me a ticket to visit. We decided that if there are non stop flights to the airport nearby I would go, 

So - a long flight from San Francisco to the East Coast - red eye - (particularly appropriate in my case). The flight was delayed by 2 1/12 hours so everyone slept!  It was full, no misbehavior, everyone masked, BUT it simply didn't feel very good. The return flight was the same - well behaved passengers, all masked - I sat next to a mother of one year old twin daughters!  Not much chance to sleep.  Nevertheless I decided to go for a covid test. Today I received the results - negative, but couched in medical terminology that makes it difficult to comprehend.  A simple negative or positive would suffice!

The green of the woods, and the bubbling, gurgling, blissful sounds of a rushing river felt so nourishing.  BUT - it is quite clear that our world is different.  There is no going back to what was.  I feel like after 9/11 - flying will never be like it was before - strict security is now the manner in which we move about the world.  Never again.will we simply board planes.

Now we have gotten over the shock of a pandemic, but the changes it has wrought are here to stay. Between the virus, and the shocking reality of climate change, and all the deaths and the uprisings, the despair, and the joy, and the beauty - all of these drift around and underneath and above us.  Things will never go back to what they were - such a short while ago.  We have no idea of where the changes are going, everything  ebbs and flows.  All we can do, I feel is to enjoy the good moments and not to fight the difficult times.  It is hard to plan ahead, but we can, knowing that any plans may change at any time.

This is our new reality.

The Time has Come

 "The time has come, the walrus said,  to compose a new entry ..........

So one of my art teachers says:  musicians practice scales and notes every day, painters too should practice - and so I am to sharpen my stick of charcoal , standing in front of my table top easel, inhale - then exhale as I draw a vertical line, sharpen again, repeat again - ad nauseum

writers too, should practice writing something each day

My day SHOULD be full - meditation practice, yoga practice, hula hoop practice, walking practice, drawing practice, breathing practice, eye exercise practice, writing practice

IS my day full of these things - of course not.  And you dear reader, has I am sure, noticed this.  Eons of time between entries prove my point.  Although I SHOULD be practicing almost everything I do - I do not.

Do you???

The Return of the Hummingbirds

 It is with much relief and unbridled joy that on a cold and foggy Saturday morning I saw the hummingbird at the feeder.

It is these birds, and the sunsets, that have sustained me over this last year and a half.  I faithfully clean out the feeder and fill it with nectar and hang it in the hibiscus tree every two weeks. My hibiscus tree does what a hibiscus tree does - it rests during winter and the glorious flowers return in June.  The humming bird/birds were there every day last year - hot days, rainy days, fog filled days, smoke clotted weeks - there they were, making their rrrrrrrrrr sound with their tiny wings.  NOT happy when I opened my door to greet them, but nevertheless, dipped their long narrow beaks time and again into the feeder.

In June this year the flowers reappeared.  At first just a few, way up in the tree, then the spent flowers fell onto the potted plants and cement below, and more flowers opened, lower down.  Every day I opened my door to greet the sun, or the fog, or the damp, but no hummingbirds.  Along with all the other losses this was the most hard to accept - where could they be? Did they succumb to climate change, to predators, were they caring for their young?  I spent a long time sitting on my deck gazing into the tree, looking for a flutter, listening for a peep - nothing.  At least a month or more, nothing.  I continued cleaning and replenishing the feeder, looking, hoping, ....... nothing.

And then - joy of joys I saw one Saturday morning. And now - every day since - there it is (or they are)m- dipping into the flowers and the feeder, irritated with me, 

As the world around continues to fall apart, my little birds are back.

JOY

Punch Drunk

Every morning brings a new message of suffering.  I am scared to look at my phone.

So much illness and suffering and loss. 

I am well aware of the teachings of the Buddha - 

"I am of the nature to have ill-health.

Ill-health is unavoidable.

I am of the nature to die.

Death is unavoidable.

All that is dear to me and everyone I

love are of the nature to change.

Separating from them is inevitable."

But does one need to be reminded every moment?  Apparently yes.  

So, ccccccrrrraaaaaazzzzzzyyyyyy circles, art, writing when able, knitting, and I even ventured into Berkeley Art Museum.  Quite a delightful experience.  

My apologies for not writing more often - in case anyone is following my posts, and even if not.

Nature's Healing Powers

 Photos from my walk today:

Unsettled Blah

What a strange title?

What a strange world we are living in?

The most apt way I can find to describe my present state is unsettled, and blah.

Supposedly California has turned a corner on Covid.  How do we really know? -  The whole situation is fluid.   Israel was doing so very well, and now 45 children are infected with the Delta variant and 9 adults who were fully vaccinated.  As I have said before - our world has changed, and 'opening up' does not mean everything is back to life as it was.  We are living through a universal experiment. 

I for one haven't shed my mask or gone to the cinema - maybe it is uber cautious - who knows? I will do what makes me feel most comfortable.

The most difficult things I am going through are my eye issues, and the health of people near and dear to me. 

I say near - but they are in far flung places, and it is  difficult to be physically so far away.

So --- blah

Crazy Circles

Today while walking my crazy circles I contemplated the circular nature of all things, but most especially of my life at this time.  I HOPE this is a time that will pass.

My life  is circumscribed by putting drops in my eyes.   In my right eye I am now putting in drops 4 x day (three weeks ago it was 8 x day - so this is an improvement.). In both my eyes are different drops which I put in 4 x day.  I have now been prescribed yet more drops for my right eye, they will be coming in the mail and I think those will be 2 x day!  Thank goodness  I have Siri who dutifully reminds me of the times.  This routine doesn't leave much time for anything else.

I suffer from chronic glaucoma.  I wouldn't normally say suffer, but that is how I am presently feeling. I have had several surgeries in both eyes - (and learned a new vocabulary) - trabulectomies and blebs were words I didn't know.  And now even a new frustration with this.  I am addicted to the spelling bee in the New York Times and do it daily.  Finding words in 7 letters.  I often find bleb - but this is not considered a word by the powers that be (Sam Ezersky if you ever read this, please take note). 

In addition to the surgeries I have used drops and suffered a torture called needling.  And this continues and continues and continues, for the past 25 years! Round and round and round we go

A friend took me to my eye appt. at Kaiser the other day.  After we eventually found her car she drove around and around the parking structure unsure whether we would exit. (At least on this matter I could assure her that we would, eventually, get out. Just as soon as she completed her driving in circles.)

I love knitting.  My neighbourhood knitting shop re-opened a couple of weeks ago (yayyyyyyyy) and I purchased a lovely shawl pattern with yarn.  I was really excited at the thought of making gifts. Well, it is a pattern I am unfamiliar with - lace, and I have now started and ripped it out more times than I can even count. Round and round and round we go

UUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ceasefire ???????

Well, a ceasefire - another ceasefire - endless bloody ceasefires.   Both sides claiming victories - of what???????  No one has gained a thing.  Lives lost, buildings and homes destroyed - again.  And how long will this present ceasefire hold?  

I feel hopeless, as I did when this all began - both sides accusing the other of starting this latest round. Hamas sents its 4,000 and counting missiles first, but they insist Israel began this by stoking the unfortunate incidents on El Aksa.  These incidents, Israel insists were stoked by Hamas who wants to gain control of the West Bank and take over from Fatah.  Hamas insists that ..................

An Orwellian nightmare of a constant state of war - no one even remembering who is fighting whom and why.  And of course the civilians suffer everywhere.  And the amount of money that goes into these weapons and counter weapons.  Imagine if that money were spent on peacetime pursuits like education, public health, the environment -  just imagine.

One thing that does sustain me are the demonstrations for solidarity in Israel.  They are loud and ongoing - just maybe - one day - the voices of cooperation will be heard.

I Cannot be Silent

 How many days has it been since the most recent eruption of horror and violence and tragedy in Israel and in Gaza? 

How many days? How many years? How many centuries? And all that happens is the weapons get worse, the defense systems break down - more people suffer. It gets worse and worse - this time the cities and villages inside Israel are burning.  Arabs and Jews are fighting in the streets.  It is likely that soon rockets will come from the north

As those of you who follow my blog know, I lived in Israel for years. You will also know that my husband was killed in the Yom Kippur War - so very long ago, in 1973.  Where are we now,  2021 - and no end in sight?

What you probably don't know is that as soon as I was told of my husband's death, I said to my mother - "women are suffering and crying in Israel, in Egypt, in Jordan. If only I could contact them."  I felt then, as I do now - a helpless pawn, and that suffering is the same for everyone.

In America I was active in an Israeli peace organization, and went on a speaking tour around the country with an Israeli soldier who opposed the occupation.  I have always opposed the occupation - for the very reasons that we now see happening.   And the Intifaders before then. Occupiers cannot occupy without becoming morally corrupt - this occupation continues to corrupt old an young, civilian and soldier alike.  Like a boil it festers and hurts, and erupts. History has shown that a people cannot be occupied/oppressed forever.

And even now, in the midst of all this I receive notices of demonstrations being called in Arabic and Hebrew - to show solidarity. The photos of my Israeli facebook friends are now framed in signs in Arabic and Hebrew, "I stand in solidarity." 

Many years ago, eons maybe, I traveled around Europe.  In Copenhagen I went to an exhibition of something or other that I no longer remember - but I do remember a slogan.

"Co-existence or No existence."

And here is beloved Mt. Tabor again, the fields of Ein Dor set aflame.

My Crazy Circles

 Today, as I did my crazy circles, I went over the past year while walking round and round and round.

Just after lockdown began last year, in March, I began my walks around my neighbourhood.  My really lovely semi urban hood. As I learned the different paths and windy streets of the hilly area, I marveled at the unimpeded views of the Bay and San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Marin Headlands. I enjoy the changing of the seasons displayed in lovely gardens  and tree lined streets.I  feel blessed indeed to have this at my feet, so to speak.  In my wanderings  last year I also discovered a track nearby and have blogged about it.  I still go there, especially when there is inclement weather.  Somehow I find the walking round and round and round very soothing.  I don't have headphones, I don't listen to podcasts, books, or music. Round and round I go looking at the asphalt move under my feet.  The grassy area is well maintained and lovely trees surround the field. I have met masked walkers and dogwalkers and ball players and skateboard folks and workout fanatics and new parents pushing strollers and we greet each other from correct social distances.  Nice to see humans still out there. There was a time last year when even the field was closed to us.  Then when it reopened we couldn't go at all because of the smoke from the fires. That lasted longer than the total lockdown.

Today I went because it is much cooler than it has been and tomorrow I have cataract surgery, and, as I said, the circles calm me. 

Now here's the thing, cataract surgery is not uncommon, probably one of the most common surgeries for the aging population, along with hip and knee replacements.  However, I have glaucoma and have had several eye surgeries - trabulectomies they are called.  Apparently this makes the cataract surgery somewhat more complicated. So round and round and round I go.  I trust my surgeon, I trust my crazy circles.  And, hopefully, I will see my beautiful surroundings more clearly. 

Random thoughts, unrelated to pandemics

 

What have these two pictures to do with my thoughts.  I will tell you.

I grew up in Johannesburg - no mountains, no rivers.  The minedumps are what constitute my memories. Large flat topped gold/sandy dust covered enormous dumps.  Flying in years later I saw them  covered in sparse patches of green grass.  

Years later I lived on Kibbutz Ein Dor situated in the Jezreel Valley - the lower Galilee. Mt. Tabor is in the above photos.  Wherever I went on the kibbutz, from my cottage to the fields, to the dining room, to the childrens' houses - Mt. Tabor was always smiling on us, always there - a Mona Lisa.  The Arab Village of Daburiyah  nestles around her feet.  A road winds up to a monastery and the Church of the Transfiguration.  It is here that Devorah the prophetess promised victory over Sisera. It is near Nazareth, and quite close to Tiberias. (Everything in Israel is quite close.) Sitting in the gardens of a kibbutz house one looks out at the glorious Jezreel Valley, a patchwork of fields, dotted with settlements. Gentle rolling hills in the spring covered in green and lupine, red poppies, an abundance of flowers, pink and white almond blossoms. Followed by  the comes the season of platinum and gold.  Fields of wheat and sorghum.  Then the harvest and the brown earth.  And always, there is Mt. Tabor.

And the above, the view from my back door.  Mt. Tamalpais.  Always there, sometimes a sharp silhouette, sometimes enshrouded,  always breathtaking sunsets.  There, ever present, blessing us with her presence. The Sleeping Lady, sacred and holy land to many Native American Tribes. A Mountain of legends and beauty.  She has sustained me throughout this strange time.l

As I walked on my crazy circles today, my settled on these two most precious and special mountains that have graced my life. And for them, I give thanks

Exactly One Year

 Last year - 2020, March 10 fell on a Tuesday.  I am not some kind of savant who remembers the days and dates, but this I do remember.  I was in my Art workshop that Tuesday and I distinctly recall telling the members that I had a ticket for Hamilton that evening.  By this time we all knew of this corona virus and we were unclear as to what to believe, and what is the correct protocol for using BART, going to the theater etc.  After much deliberation I decided to go. I took BART into the city - the theater was packed with an enthusiastic audience.  I thoroughly enjoyed the evening, and was so pleased I went.  The very next day public gatherings were forbidden.  I did blog about this a year ago.

Now I am 2 days before my second shot.  Then I have 2 weeks to remain protected, then apparently it will be safe to be inside with people who have been vaccinated. We can even remove our masks.  As I wrote in previous entries, I am not singing woo hoo and ditching my mask and hand sanitizers, nor my caution that has been drilled into me for a year.  I am also not hopping on a plane or planning wild vacations.

I know this pandemic is not over, and oddly, I am by now quite used to staying at home. I attend zoom groups and classes, and am quite relieved not to have to drive anywhere, look for parking etc. 

I suppose it will be like first putting my foot in to test the water.  First one toe, then another.  Maybe the whole foot, followed by the other.  Wading out, not yet fully submerged.  Then perhaps, with caution, eventually, one deep breath and under the water I go.

Let's see.

Almost a Year

 Firstly, many thanks to those who have commented.  I have not yet discovered how to reply to comments - it took me years to tell people how to reply.  The other thing I have not yet discovered is how to alert followers that there is a new entry.

Johana, as always, thanks so much for your insightful comments, and what you said about receiving the vaccine. And to Hopeful, I am aware of the experiments done on black people.  Years ago I worked for Contra Costa County in home health.  We would get new referrals to patients in our weekly meetings. I remember an 80 year old man being referred, and one of his diagnoses was syphilis.  Immediately a nurse who was present asked where he was born and she told us of the Tuskegee experiment. (In fact, he was from Tuskegee).  I remember how shocked and saddened I was to hear about this. Also, Johana writes about Henrietta Lacks, and the ongoing importance of her cell line.  

This is the dark side of medical experimentation.  And yes, learning about the covid vaccines and their affects and efficacies will be ongoing for a very long time.

After my previous blog about not experiencing any side effects other than a desire for Diet Coke, a strange thing happened.  Eight days after the vaccine while on a walk I felt my arm itching at the site of the vaccine.  It was also somewhat painful.  I paid no attention, thinking it must be a mosquito bite.  The pain and itching continued. While toweling myself dry a day later I saw that my arm was swollen and very red. It looked like a dark red rash in the swollen area. It was also hot to touch.  I was really surprised, because I realised it must be from the vaccine, and it was by now 10 days later!  An internet search revealed a surprise - I was not the first to develop "Covid Arm" 10 days after the first shot.  For a few days I was quite lethargic and experienced some unpleasant gastric disturbances.  Go figure ......

I am fine again, and receive my second shot on March 13.  On the advice of answers to FAQ I will get the shot in my right arm this time. 

The Vaccine

 Today I joined the burgeoning multitude.  I had my first shot of the Moderna vaccine.

I stood in the 1.20 p.m. line.   This, I thought to myself, must be what it is like at Lourdes. The very old, the misshapen, the bent, the lame, those on wheelchairs,  those with canes, those pushing walkers.  Black people, brown people, yellow people, white people, all with a shared purpose - hopefully to evade the clutches of the virus that has changed our lives.

I feel there appear to be two streams of thought.   Those who place absolute faith in science and statistics, and the others -  the anti-vaxers. 

As I have written in previous entries, it is really difficult, if not impossible,  for us to grasp that our lives, or rather, our lives as we knew them, have irrevocably changed. It is almost a year now and what was really strange is now a way of life. We wear masks, We do not go to gyms, to theaters, to cinemas, to restaurants, to shops, we hardly socialise.  Zoom has found its way into our lives.  We learn languages, do yoga, paint, draw, analyze our psyches, learn to fix cars, whatever it is, on zoom. The world of science fiction is here.

I feel that I hover between these two opposing streams.   I don't feel science is invincible.   I don't feel we have all the answers and the genius to do and solve everything.   This virus is new, and it is doing what it must do, it is mutating.  We are learning about it every day as it continues to evolve.  Although I don't think the vaccine will change our lives, of course I will have it,  So today I drove to Contra Costa College. This is an area I worked in for years, but haven't been this way in quite a while.  The trees clad in their pink blossoms line El Portal Avenue, making the drive quite pleasant.

I had the vaccine, and have an appointment for the second shot.  So far I feel fine - I don't even have a sore arm, although I realise this can still happen,  But do I feel that my life will change?  No, not at all.  Has the virus been vanquished - no.  It is mutating, as viruses do, it is here among us, and we have to learn to live with it. Vaccine or not, we have to be careful that  we will not get infected, and that we don't pass it on to someone else.

That is our life now, along with masks, social distancing,  and zoom. 

Happiness is...........

 Happiness is finding my missing valet blade.  At last I can again scrape dry paint off my easel. 

I have no idea why I still have a valet blade, or where it came from.  Does anyone recognise them?  I remember my mother used them in South Africa to sharpen pencils.  One side is blunt.  I don't even know whether it is still possible to buy or find them.

I found one still in its packet a couple of years ago and have used it to scrape paint off my easel, as I stated before.  But just about a month ago I didn't see it in the box of brushes.  I searched high and low, to no avail.  I scraped paint off with makeshift items, a steel emery board, a blunt knife.  Nothing as good as my trusted valet blade.  This morning I sat down to my coffee and began clearing my table  for tomorrow's art class.  I have a small cart of art supplies which I pushed aside to make room for more tins and what have you's  when, to my unbridled joy, I saw the valet blade on the mesh surface of the table.  Such happiness!

It doesn't take much to bring me joy in these strange new times.  I am wondering what Mari Kondo would say to that!  I experience joy finding a missing sock in my basket of masks.  I am unreasonably happy to discover a pair pliers that I had misplaced.

I suppose it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of this, joy is joy after all.

A Slurry of Unfortunate Mishaps

This latest string of mishaps began last Saturday.  Hopefully now that this week is over, the string has been cut.  I am writing about personal mishaps, NOT what is going on in the larger world around us, because unfortunate mishaps would be a gross understatement.

Last Saturday a friend and I went for a hike.  We walked for two hours in an Oakgrove Forest not far from where I live.  

At the end of the hike we bought beverages from the neighborhood cafe.    Paper cups in hand we proceeded to walk up Stockton.  She was ahead of me.   I saw her foot catch on a section of pavement that jutted upwards, pushed by a tree root.  In slow motion I saw her stumble then fall, arms outstretched, head to the side as she landed face first, with a small cry, on to the unforgiving pavement.  Her sunglasses clattered to the ground as did the cup of tea she was holding.  It fell not too far from her and drop by drop the tea spilled out.  

In 2019 my sister, brother-in-law and a guide hiked around a glacial lake in Torres de Pines in Chili.  The winds were fierce and gusted from every direction. A sudden fierce gust sent my sister toppling face forward onto sharp rocks.

To see my friend fall face down was a deja-vu.  Fortunately in both cases, no limbs were broken, no concussion.  Just stunned participants with cuts on their noses and blood dripping down.  Grazes, bruises, etc.

The night after this I sat on my couch at 6 to watch the news, when - total blackness.  A power outage - the second in a couple of weeks. NOT a dreadful thing - just an inconvenience without of course any idea of how long it would continue.  Power returned after an hour.  

The very next morning when I went to make my cup of coffee I saw droppings -  the same place they had been before when I insisted to myself that it was cumin seeds.  This time I could not deny what I saw, and this is a sight that really sets me on edge - of what - a cliff that is high.  I called a friend who said she had bought an electric rodent zapper. I wanted to buy one.  She generously told me I could borrow hers.  I went to her house and brought the zapper back and set it.  Well, strange to say, but since then, no droppings, no you-know-whats.  Who knows what is going on - ours is not to reason why. The trap is set just in case.

The next day I drove to meet a friend at the Berkeley Marina.  I waited for the light to turn green at the junction of Stockton and  San Pablo Avenues so I could make a left hand turn.  Yet again I experiened a disconnect between seeing and hearing things.  I kind of saw a grey car coming out of the strip mall to my left. Then I heard a crash and I realised something, that car, had crashed into me. I turned my head to the right expecting the car would stop at the side of the road and we would exchange information or something. Instead I saw the car pass me on my right and it turned right on San Pablo Avenue.  I registered it was a grey Pontiac - I couldn't see the license plate, but I then turned right and drove after it as it was not going to stop. I followed it down San Pablo, it turned right on Waldo Avenue. In hot pursuit I made a right, lost sight of it and realised what I was doing was insane. Thoughts, time, movement coalesced back into so called normal.  I drove toward the Marina and then thought I should check my car - a serious ding on the rear seat, no hubcap - scratches.

So - severely shaken up.  Thank the lord no injuries, and thanks for the help of a friend who helped ferry me back from the body shop, and to rent a car.  

Lets hope that is it.