The Treasure of a Normal Day

Like many, I complain about the heat and humidity. I complain about my job. I complain that the lawn has to be cut again, I am not working out enough, there is not enough time to do the things I enjoy, blah, blah, blah. Then I remember this famous quote by Mary Jean Iron and it makes me look again:

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return."

It is Thursday, July 31, 2008: What are the treasures in your normal day?

The Learning Curve

I am spending some quality time this weekend with my Canon S5, and can already recommend that you not practice on hummingbirds your first time out with a new camera. Better to use tree trunks or landscapes or a husband swiveling peacefully on a deck chair while nursing a Budweiser after a day’s work.

I’ve been browsing the book that came with the camera. Between ISOs and apertures, macros and manuals, stitch assists and shooting modes with all those adorable little icons, I have a long way to go before achieving any proficiency. It’s almost as confusing as learning about computers years ago. Hours of mystery followed by confusion, frustration and angst.

This is the fun part though. A new technology puzzle to figure out, another skill to add. I love the challenge of learning something new, especially if some kind of “gadget” is involved. I carve out the time to drag the how-to manuals into my den and study them, page by page, practicing on a piece of equipment or manipulating some new software. I enjoy rounding the bend of the learning curve and have come to realize that frustration and anger are just signposts and nothing more than indicators that it might be time to walk away for awhile and let the information filter down into the appropriate places in my brain.

I call the intial confusion of learning something new “the cloud of unknowing” (borrowed from the title of a book by the renowned theologian, C.S. Lewis) where I will wander for an undetermined amount of time. Comprehension has not yet set in, it seems like I will never get it, who the heck thought this thing up anyway and they should be shot. But I have learned to stay in the cloud because connections will build up, like static electricity, until suddenly, there is a spark of understanding. One connection leads to the next until ideas fire off and voila! I get it. The cloud clears up. It can take a long time, or almost none at all, but the process is the same. Put yourself in the cloud and keep going. You will come out on the other side with another layer of learning intact. You will own it as much as it owns you.

New Life!

Confession: I am a member of a fractured family. Parents in Florida, brother in the southern part of my state, a sister and her family in New England, two others in New York, one of whom snowbirds in Florida. We rarely see each other, and for me, when we do, there is a mixture of familiarity, sorrow, and longing. I miss my family, despite the thorns.

So yesterday's news was particularly happy~there is a new baby among us, born to my sister's daughter, my niece, who I held shortly after she was born in Denver, only a brief lifetime ago. It astonishes me that time has not held still. How can it be that I am the age I am? Not "old" by a long shot (How sad to feel the need to say that. Anyone over 50 years old in this country is relegated to the irrelevant. What mines of wisdom we shut down).

But this is about new life; not ones on the lee side. Congratulations, my sister's daughter! Welcome to this world! May this earth become a better place because you are in it, not the least of reasons because you are my sister's granddaughter, and the daughter of MY niece!

Which Camera?

I am very impressed with the photos other bloggers are posting--many are truly works of art. I am astonished at how the small moments of people's lives are captured and shared and treasured. Fortunately, there is a huge array of digital cameras (and prices) from which to choose.
It's time for me to make an upgrade from my little Canon Powershot. Its small size makes it handy to pop into my pocket for my walks, but the quality of the photos is, well, ho hum.
Yesterday I motored over to Bergen County Camera during my lunch hour to chat with the folks there. They are knowledgeable, helpful and back up their stuff with customer service that is second to none. And they treat me, a beginner in photography, as respectfully as the professionals who use their services.
After a general discussion about what the next level camera would be for me, I am mulling over a Canon G9 or an S5 IS. The F9 has a better image, but the S5 has a better zoom, which lends itself to nature shots. Some research is in order.
Ideas, anyone?

The BlogHer08 Conference was touted as an opportunity to mingle and chat, and it was. And it was, to a point. During the early part of the Newbie party, I strolled from group to group asking about other bloggers and their blogs.We handed out and collected “Moo cards,” which are miniature business cards inscribed with our blog name.

Once the official conference began; however, things changed. Round tables were arranged around the ballroom to make it easier to talk to others at our tables and learn more about their lives; what it’s like to live in Vancouver, Canada, apparently one of the geek capitals of the world, or Alaska, with the challenges and pleasures of worldwide social networking. What about all these folks from Ohio? What about their families, their friends? What was important to them? Can I see joy or sorrow in their eyes, in their facial expressions, in how they wave their hands and point their fingers while telling a story? What makes them laugh? What do they feel strongly about? How hard was it to leave children or their jobs or their homes to travel all this way to attend this conference?

Guess I’ll have to read their blogs. The round tables, usually so conducive to group discussion, were instead electronic carousels of laptop lids. Instead of faces, I was greeted by Dell, Apple and HP logos. Where you would expect to see the open glance of a stranger welcoming your approach (“Good morning,” etc) there was just downward stares at glowing computer monitors. If the participants weren’t tapping at their computer keyboards, they were texting on their phones, eyes flicking from one gadget to another to stay in touch with their own network instead of the one gathering around them.

There were hellos here and there, brief flutters of conversation as computers booted up and Twitter screens appeared. But it seems social priorities bow toward electronic conversation over those held in “real time.”

Several other women of my age genre commented on this too. Maybe it’s a generational thing, we mused. I had my laptop with me too but was not planning on using it during the sessions, preferring my paper notebook and using the computer to organize my thoughts of the day later in my room. And I don’t have a cool phone.

On the other hand, this was a BLOGGER CONFERENCE so my expectations were probably off. But as much as I enjoyed myself and all that I learned about blogging, I am a teeny bit sad about it, to tell you the truth. I think I missed something, or someone.

Guess I’ll just blog about it.

The White Picket Platform

I am not fond of big city chaos. I prefer the silence and solitude of the woods. Don't take it personally, San Francisco, if I do not leave my heart here. I also can't stand staying indoors for long periods of time. In general, I avoid large crowds and feel awkward in new situations with people I do not know.
But sometimes change requires you to be uncomfortable for awhile. There's nothing wrong with that. It's like trying on a different style that you always liked but never thought would look good on you. But put it on and wear it, and voila! not only does it fit, it looks great!
So here I am in this big west coast city, starting my second day of the BlogHer conference, where I am spending all my time with a thousand or so other women (and a few men) in the ample rooms of the Westin St. Francis Hotel. It is amazing to be with so many extraordinary women; smart, intelligent, funny. Some are entrepreneurs, some are mommies posting amazing stories about their lives, some are artists, some are like me; here to soak up knowledge and meet some of the faces behind the blogs I read.
Blogging is today's version of the backyard chat, the conversation with the neighbor over the white picket fence, only now the fence we lean over is Blogspot, Wordpress, Typepad, and the conversations about children, jobs, pets, shopping, health, fitness, joys, sorrows, are not only with the people next door but with bloggers from Florida to Madagascar, New Jersey to Alaska and beyond. There are no longer geographical limitations to your network of friends. While you sleep, the blogger network is creating a vast web of relationships around the globe, and we are adding more to our lives because of it.
You never know, some changes just might save this old planet. Like trying on new clothes, it could just make it a better place.

Attended the BlogHer Newbie party last night held on the top floor of the Westin St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. Not being much of a party girl, I pushed myself into the fray to meet women from all over the country. The diversity of age, experience, background, personalities are wonderful, yet we have one thing in common: We blog.

The grounding question through the room was, “What is your blog about?” There were many “Life Blogs,” like this one that focus on whatever the writer feels like talking about. Others included a disillusioned Human Resources professional who quit her job and is now blogging HR stories, there are travel bloggers, design bloggers, lots of mommy bloggers, and three women who team blog. There is one who was recently released from jail and is starting her life over, and another from Israel.

More to come! Time to start a new day at BlogHer!

Wine Tasting in Napa Valley

Left Napa this morning to return to San Francisco for the evening Newbie BlogHer event. We were not entirely sorry to leave, as we found Napa itself very quiet and without the usual bustle expected of a high-end winery tourist town. We did find it; however, in St. Helena, so if you are planning a tour of Napa Valley, do yourself a favor and check in at one of the fine hotels there. You will be directly on the Rt. 29 path where many of the wineries are located and will be more satisfied with the diversity of shops and fine dining.

Thinking back on the experience of Napa wine tasting in general, I was surprised to learn that you are encouraged not to drink the whole glass of two to three sips per sample unless you really like it. This makes sense, because you would be quickly rendered incapable of knowing whether you were sipping a fine Sauvignon Blanc or some weird ripple. I am told some people actually spit their samples into a wine spittoon, but we used a dump bucket quietly provided on the counter for dumping what we did not want. We sipped, and then decided yes or no. I was surprised that for me, the answer was usually a no, and in the bucket the rest of my glass would go. Most of the time, the wines offered for tasting were my least favorites to begin with (Chardonnay and Zinfandel) so it didn’t break my heart to dump them after one sip.

This did not hold true at the Black Stallion winery; however, where every wine offered to us was sensational. My favorite was the Sauvignon and the Merlot. They seemed alive after so many tastes of what seemed like watered-down, “pale” tasting wines. Unfortunately, my home state has too many restrictions on mail-order alcohol, so we did not ship any home. If you ever see a Black Stallion wine at your local store; however, do try some, and lift a toast to Oak in the Seed!

Go to the Wild Places

I love going to new places, and love the getting there. I could fly all day long and gaze out the window like a little kid at her first Christmas.

I forget sometimes what an incredible place this planet is.

These words drifted through my mind as I sat at the window of the plane the other day, listening to native American flute song playing from my Ipod and watching the changing panorama of our flightpath from NJ to California. We flew over mountains, rivers, streams; vast, lonely places with little collections of towns surrounded by miles of earth. Here and there, tiny quilted squares of green irrigated farmland squeezed between fortresses of earth and rock. Some were enormous emerald circles looking like great green eyes staring blindly into the sky.

As we continued, the mountains seemed to proliferate and grow below my little window in the sky. Eventually they were all I could see. And while I watched the incredible panorama unfold and the soft music in my ears, another voice spoke to me, matching the royal glory below.

Go to the wild places,

The music calls.

It still lives in you

Longs in you

Claims your place in the spirit of things.

Hope.

The mountains stood up to each other, circled around behind one another, a few stood free and clear as if there was no where else on earth quite like them. Some seemed lonely, while others embraced All were necklaced with the eternal whiteness of the high snows of July.

And now, red sandstone, rivers sifting through on their way to a distant sea. From my height in the plane, the canyon indentations looked like the quivering lines of an old poet. There were great writhing snakes of parched riverbeds, their waters stolen by human greed and drought. A road ribboned through enormous expanses of mottled peach and brown.

We flew on. The wing of the plane dipped, exposing ocean landscape without the ocean, feathered by fissures while sweeps of vanilla and mauve faded into dove gray.

I looked, not only at the earth, but at the past, the present, and the future, all the while going to my own.

Birds and Wine: Perfect Together!

Please excuse me while I am relaxed in mind and body and give myself over to a higher power. It happens whenever I spend a day immersed in the natural world; a world of sun and trees and blue water, the amazing opportunity to visit a place I have never been before and probably will never will be again.

I blog to you from Napa Valley, heart of California’s wine country. Taking the advise from the experienced folks from the Visitor’s Center, we motored north via the Silverado Trail, which winds its way from one winery to another. Hundreds of acres of vines trail obediently in their rows, arms spread to welcome the sun after another chilly night. We see all the familiar names: Mondavi, Sonoma, Beaulieu, Sutter Home, Beringer. There are more than over 120 wineries here (so many wines, so little time!)

But birding comes first. And so this morning, we set out for Lake Hennessy, where we saw Western and Clark’s Grebes (one Pied Billed!), Acorn Woodpeckers (with their larder of acorns jammed into a tree), Oregon Juncos, Spotted Towhees, California Quail.

Noon and hungry: At St. Helena, we were advised to try Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen for lunch and ended up spending $120 but the soup and salad was so fresh and excellent, we had no need of another meal for the rest of the day.

Since birds tend to be quiet in the afternoon heat, we tippled our way through wineries of choice, visiting Grgich Hills, and Domaine Chandon (well recommended by a work colleague) and Black Stallion, where we had the best Savignon Blanc on the planet. On the way back to our hotel, we slipped in to the parking lot at Luna Winery but alas, as walked toward the lobby, we noticed the “Closed” sign, so got back into the car.

As we pulled out of the parking lot; however, a handsome man ran toward us, waving his arms. I thought, maybe they’re not closed and he is inviting us in after all?

“Did we miss you for the wine tasting?”

Before we could answer, he handed us a black bag.

“Please, take this, I am sorry we missed you!”

He handed us a cold bottle of Luna Pinot Grigio, one of my all-time favorites.

An entire bottle because we missed their wine tasting hours? Talk about customer service (and we will be sure to re-visit tomorrow!)

To be continued. Tomorrow’s itinerary: Birding at Alcatraz for Common Murre, Pelagic Cormorant, Pigeon Guillemot, and who knows what else? Telegraph Hill for the parrots.

And then, it’s on to the evening BlogHer Newbie Party!

Airports and Hockey Teams

photo from Photobucket

My daily morning pages are being written at Newark Airport at 6:00am this morning. Yawn. I am just this side of being awake. You have to go into a state of suspended animation in airports anyway, pull on your shroud of anonymity to get through the line to check your bag, then onto the next line to struggle through security where you have to pull off your shoes and put them and everything else that is not attached to your body in trays that roll around and fall off onto the floor (not the laptop…Noooooooo!), then get zapped by the x-ray machine while your own body is illuminated for terrorist tendencies. Then, you go sit on line at the gate until you get up and stand on line again to board the plane.

I get myself through these onerous hours by telling myself I am not going anywhere, after all, despite months of planning and anticipation of attending my first BlogHer conference. It calms me, gives me solace, which is sorely needed now since I have suddenly been surrounded by a college hockey team on their way to a game in San Jose. They are VERY excited. Way too much testerone for one little plane. Considering having experienced similar years in my “yute” I cannot complain about them as I recall my own drama group that traveled the east coast in station wagons and mini vans while the guys blew up condoms like balloons and floated them out the window on strings for the carload of us to catch while zooming down America’s highways. I’ll bet these guys never thought to try that, difficult as it might be in a Boeing 737.

And now…it’s time to board and start the journey to BLOGHER!

Walk in the Woods: Summer

My walking sojourns, started as part of a fitness routine, are now a weekend highlight. It’s an opportunity to keep track of the seasons; to listen to the loopy trill of a Common Yellowthroat in the scrub on the side of a field or the incessant buzz and squeak of fledgling Catbirds, Titmice, Cardinals and Blue Jays. It’s the time of year to bump up production of hummingbird solution to over half a gallon a week to satisfy the local population. They all give me hope of another year of life to come.

We are treading on the spine of summer. Here is nature’s embroidery at its finest: the French knots of Queen Anne ’s lace flirts with the sky blue of chicory. Across the road, persimmon day lilies wave in the breeze like so many fans at a music concert. Necklaces of milkweed leaves offer larder to larvae for another generation of Monarch butterflies. Sunlight is dropping off the edge of the earth one moment at a time as the earth tilts toward autumn. I used to dread the coming darkness but now welcome the soft shadows of dusk to chase away the sweltering humidity of this season.

Everything green and growing is on an all out assault to the light to get its life in before going out in a blaze of September glory. Seed heads are swelling. There are reports of early migrating birds making their way back down the New Jersey coastline on their return migration to Central and South America. Whimbrels, Short-billed Dowitchers, Lesser Yellowlegs, Worm-eating and Yellow Warblers all on their way.

The earth is turning. Nothing stays the same for long, including you and me.

Cousin Parrot

Every year, the American Ornithologist’s Union updates its list of bird names to reflect the results of the latest DNA studies. Most of these changes have to do with the discovery that some species once believed to be of one group may actually be two or more. The Florida Scrub Jay, once considered one happy family, was revealed to be three separate groups, so birders who had this rare bird on their life lists suddenly went from having one “Scrub Jay” to three: Florida Scrub Jay, Island Scrub Jay and Western Scrub Jay. Love it when that happens!

What usually is the case; however, is when you had several birds on your list, and the Ornithologists determine that a group of different birds actually belong under one roof, as happened when The Gray-headed Junco, Oregon Junco, White-winged Junco and Slate-colored Junco were all lumped together into one: Dark-eyed Junco. Boo hoo for listers.

Now birders have a new challenge. Not only do we have to keep up with name changes, it turns out that entire relationships between species are undergoing major surgery. And it’s more than changing the name from Solitary Vireo to Blue Headed Vireo, or a Baltimore Oriole to a Northern Oriole, only to be put back to the original Baltimore Oriole assignment again.

Researchers from the Field Museum have announced that after a five year study of avian evolutionary relationships, the Peregrine Falcon is more closely related to Parrots than to other raptors, such as hawks and eagles. This is all part of how studies in genetics have changed how ornithologists classify birds. The old methodology of defining groups based upon similar characteristics in appearance and behavior turns out to be mostly all wrong.

It’s about relationships, as it is in families, where you might need a spreadsheet to keep up with who is married to whom, with what kids by a former spouse, and who is aunt or uncle to this one but not to that one in the same blended group.

New birders may be surprised (and a bit frustrated) to discover that the bird guides they hold in their hand do not list birds alphabetically but rather, by family species. Once you get the hang of it, you know to look for the falcons among the hawk and eagle pages (though soon to hang out with the parrots) or hummingbirds back by the pages near the swifts. Now, as science zeroes in on the truth of their relationships, we are all floundering around the index to find the page our bird has been moved to. And as soon as you buy the latest field guide with all the corrections, the results of yet another study is announced, making your version obsolete before the ink dries.

I am reluctant to abandon my comfortable familiarity with the groupings learned long ago. The various shifts between groups in my own family is quite enough to keep up with, and I have to do that without an index, just a seat-of-my-pants guess at where we all are at any given time. On the other hand, discovering that falcons are more closely related to parrots than hawks and eagles gives me pause. What else could I be related to? Does my passion for the solitude of nature indicate a mysterious link to Thoreau? Is there a chance a drop of blood from Mary Oliver, my favorite poet, flows through my veins? Or could I share a distant relationship with less savory characters whose names can be left out of my blog?

Perhaps at the end of the day, we will learn that we are indeed connected to the Ostrich or the Emu; or those of us with related DNA, if not similar behavioral characteristics, might be on the same page with the vultures.

You just never know where the truth will lead you.

The Eagles of Skylands

Here is one of the fiercest pair of raptors you will ever see in New Jersey (or anywhere else). Salvaged from Penn Station, they were brought to their current perches at the gate of the state’s Botanical Gardens in the late 1960’s. It is where they were awakened to their purpose in their lives as statuaries: Guardian angels of the winged and all the creeping, crawling creatures.

Of course, you will not read this in any of the brochures. That information is found only in my imagination, but I guarantee that all you have to do to be convinced of it is to stand in front of one of these amazing creations to feel the invisible power of their solid wings or notice the almost pained, tearful expression in their eyes.

There was always something about these incredible pieces that attracted me when I drove by them in the past, but it wasn’t until the other day when I actually WALKED up and stood in front of them that I felt a kind of “presence.”

They did not deign to give me a glance. I was just a tiny, sweaty ball of humanity. They seemed only able to be aware of the birds fluttering around their heads, or the chipmunks scurrying around their chipped talons, or hear the chattering of a gray squirrel from its branch in the white pine shading their backs. They exuded an indifference to the forces of nature slowly softening their features.

I know this is anthropormorphism at its best; the projecting of human traits or emotions on another animal or thing, but in this case, what is the harm? Is that not part of the appreciation of art? They take me out of myself into a flight of fantasy, stir emotions long buried, inspire me to want to learn more about things and places and people beyond my current life experience. I am fascinated by their beauty, their size, their shape, and something else I cannot name, but love nevertheless.

Walk in the Woods: The Tenacity of Hope....

A sprig of jewelweed sprouts from a soggy stump in the middle of a stream. Just clings there with no soil to speak of, quietly growing toward the light with the tenacity of life and energy and hope.

I take my lessons where I find them.

Oh, Deer!

The temperature was predicted to be in the 90’s the other day, so as soon as I was awake, I grabbed the sun visor and the camera and was out the door to take advantage of the cool morning air.

My current route takes me part way around a lake and then into the back door of our state’s botanical gardens, so within half an hour I am strolling down a quiet woods road fragrant with the spice of pine and warming loam and honeysuckle. Unfortunately, the deer flies like it there too, so it is a mixed blessing as I stride through the shadows with waving arms, batting at my own head and combing the damned things out of my hair with my fingers.

The flies were almost forgotten when a deer sauntered out in front of me. I thought she was going to come over and ask me for directions. It was either too hot already for her to care, or more likely, she had become so accustomed to humans flailing their way down the road that she hardly noticed them any more. She meandered to the other field when her fawn bounced out and ran after her, which left one more deer near the woods line where she had come from. It was busy stripping a bush, reaching its graceful muzzle into the mass of green and yanking it down. I knew I was witnessing what has been called an irreversible assault on the forests of the northeast. The number of white-tailed deer, once almost zero in New Jersey, have not only rebounded, but have exploded out of control. Even hunting has not put a dent in their numbers. And sadly, the understory of many forest tracts have been grazed out, destroying nest sites for many bird species (whose numbers have predictably declined) and creating perfect habitat for opportunistic non-nutritious, invasive plants such as barberry, garlic mustard and Japanese knotweed.

I am torn between seeing the graceful and innocent beauty of a deer and the grief of the loss of our forests, which is the greater concern. I have no solution to offer, though humane options always get my vote!